Out of Reach
by GigiPuff
Summary: Dalia wanted nothing as much as she wanted Jon Snow. Nivia wanted nothing more than Theon's love. Antonia wanted nothing more than out of her marriage. Will they ever get what they really wish for? Will they ever reach what is out of reach? OC/Jon/Robb OC/Theon
1. Chapter 1: Dalia

"Dalia…Dalia…Dalia….Dalia!"

The frustrated voice echoed through the stone walls of the Mason household. A dark-haired woman of about fifty-years stormed across the halls; her dress and cloak billowed around her in the cold winds flowing out the windows. Her bluish hues scanned all around for a sign of her daughter. Today was a very important day; it would not be spoiled by Dalia's lack of sense and interest in the matter. She spotted a girl with sleek black hair walking up ahead of her.

"Nivia," She called out to her daughter, "Where is Dalia? Yours brothers are ready to move."

"She's still bathing, Mother. She's been in there for an hour already."

Lady Sora Mason gave an irritated sigh before heading off again. She found her way towards the bathroom. In the middle of the wooden tub filled nearly to the brim with cloudy blue white water, small wisps of steam rising from the surface sat a girl. She had brown curls pinned up with skin as pale as her mother's; she perked her head upward at the sound of the opening door. She greeted her with a smile.

"Mother, what a lovely surprise," Dalia said, "Have you run out of things for the servants to do?"

"Why are you still in here? I expected you to be dressed an hour ago," The older woman fetched a large cloth from a nearby chair, "We have been waiting on you."

"Must I really go today?" Dalia sank shoulder deep into the water. "I'm not really in the mood to leave yet."

"Well excuse us Princess Dalia," Lady Mason said sarcastically, gesturing her daughter out of the tub, "But this arrangement between your father and Eddard Stark has been decided for months. Robb will be your husband soon, and you will receive him today. Now, out."

Dalia rolled those green eyes before stepping out of the warm water into the freezing air. She shuddered even underneath the drying cloth, "Why does it have to be so cold all the time? Why couldn't we have lived somewhere beyond the wall where it's warm?"

"Because our family has lived in the north for generations that's why; I would hate to tell you the bad news," She began wiping down the excess water on her body, "But the world does not revolve around Dalia Mason."

"Hm, what a shame. The world would be such a nicer place."

They looked at one another, and then shared a laugh. Dalia never really approved of this arranged marriage to a boy whom she never met. Why should she marry him? Because a pair of old soldiers decided uniting their houses was a good idea. As her mother dressed her (along with other servants), she thought about all of this. Last time she checked, Dalia was not a piece of livestock. She was her own woman. She could think and speak for herself; she could make choices on her own.

* * *

><p>After an hour of brushes being run through her hair, proper clothes being tied around her, a touch of make-up placed on her oval face, and perfume dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists, Dalia was deemed proper enough for presentation. She felt like a doll being primed for display instead of a girl meeting her husband.<p>

"You look lovely," Her mother said. "They will absolutely adore you."

"And why would they not? Dalia has always been charming."

The voice came from the doorway of the room. A tall man with broad shoulders leaned against the doorframe. Lord Gareth Mason had been a knight in the King's army many years ago, and part of the rebellion that brought down the Mad King. A scar cut across his chiseled face, but did not stop his handsome features from showing. Dressed warmly with a fur cloak, black boots and silver armor with the Mason eagle on the front, Lord Mason entered the room.

"When her tongue does not ruin the effect of course," He added, a smirk playing on his face.

"Oh ha-ha, Father," Dalia replied. She noted his attire, "Are you to be coming with us then?"

"Naturally. The parents of the bride should be present when she is handed over," He brushed hair from her face, "Plus, would give me a chance to be in Ned's company again. I haven't seen the man in fifteen years and I'll be needing words with him."

"About what?" Dalia inquired.

"Nothing that concerns you darling," Her mother intervened. "Now, we must go to the carriages before your grandfather decides to leave without us."

The three Masons exited the room to enter into the hall. From the overhanging balcony, she could see five men on horses waiting in the courtyard. An older man sat on a horse whose coat was as white as its rider's hair.

"I thought grandfather wasn't coming." Dalia pointed out when they came closer to the entrance hall. "Has his illness subsided then?"

"For now," Her father answered. "The physician said it might come back at any time."

"What if he grows ill on our way there?" They came out into the courtyard.

"I have prepared everything with Lady Stark should something happen. We will have no more of this worrisome talk," Her mother said, "Today should be a day for celebration."

"Indeed!"

Grandfather Mason sat upon his horse next to a white and gold carriage. His blue eyes stared down at the three Masons. "No doubt there will be a feast awaiting us when we arrive. Let us just say, I will be drinking for my good health," The old man gave a hearty laugh.

"You will do no such thing," Her father said, straddling his own horse. "I don't want you keeling over in the middle of the feast."

"Because apparently," He looked to Dalia as she was escorted into the carriage, "Keeling over in another's home is considered rude."

Dalia laughed along with him before being ushered into the carriage. "Grandfather," She called through the window, "Are you sure you want to ride your horse? Wouldn't you be better suited in the carriage?"

"I'm ill Dalia, not dead. This old man still has some life in him. Let us go now, before winter catches up with us."

When Dalia finally settled into the carriage, she noticed her two sisters across from her: Antonia, a girl three years younger than Dalia who carried the signature dark-hair of the Mason clan and crystal blue eyes the pupil, and Nivia, a slender girl only two years younger than her with sleek black hair and dark blue eyes.

"So?" Nivia began.

"So…"

"Are you not excited?" She asked.

"Not particularly," Answered Dalia, "Should I be?"

"Yes," Antonia replied. "You're marrying Robb Stark. He's the son of the Lord of Winterfell. You'll be the mistress of House Stark and-"

"-Not to mention he's handsome," Nivia interrupted. "I've heard girls say he's perfectly capable of-"

"-Nivia!" Antonia said astonished. "Mother says ladies don't talk that way!"

"Oh Toni!" Nivia gave a dismissive gesture, "You're so old fashioned! We're not children anymore."

Antonia ignored the comment and turned back to Dalia. "So, you are saying you do not wish to marry Robb?"

"I'm not sure yet," Dalia said. "I only dislike being given away like an item for sale. When will they see we're human beings able of making our own choices?"

"But it's tradition. We're uniting our houses through your marriage," Antonia said. "This means if we either house ever goes to war, the other-"

"-Oh there's never going to be a war," Nivia said. "Not as long as King Robert, Eddard Stark and our father are friends."

"You never know, the most dangerous quarrels can happen even between the best of friends," Antonia told her.

"What if I'm not happy?" Dalia said suddenly. "What if end up not liking Robb? What if he beats me or is cruel to me? What if I become unhappy the rest of my life?"

"That would never happen, Dali," Nivia told her. "No doubt you'll have plenty of children to keep you happy, and you would have plenty of faithful guards around when Robb stops coming to you and goes to the whores instead."

The carriage door opened to reveal their mother being helped inside. All talk of Robb Stark, traditions and whores were thrown out and talk of wifely duties put in place. All the way to the Stark home, Lady Mason listed everything a wife does in the presence and absence of her husband. Dalia barely gave an ear. She stared out the carriage window into the snowy forest outside; she dived more into her thoughts than conversation. She didn't believe herself ready to be a lady of Winterfell or even be a wife. Her mother told her she felt the same when she married their father. She said she hated being given away to someone she never met; she was not fully prepared for the responsibilities of marriage or motherhood, but she endured it to please her family.

'_We all must do things we don't want to.'_ She said.

House of Stark was half a month's ride away from Tower Hill. The girls spent most of their time in the wheelhouse, playing cards, talking, working on their needlepoints. Eventually, after the weeks went by, the carriage went over a large hill. Winterfell sat not too far off. The guard atop the large stone wall posts began opening the wooden gates as the group came closer. Only Antonia and Nivia pressed their faces up to the windows. The grand home of her new husband gave Dalia chills. She wondered what things would be like for her now.

"Looks a bit scary," Nivia said.

"Well, the Lord of Winterfell does live here," Antonia said. "So, I'm sure his home has to look at least a bit intimidating."

Dalia said nothing as the carriage grew closer. Peering around she saw her brothers Thorin, large and stocky, Mika, small and slender, and William, lean and tall, staring up at the home just as bewildered. The group followed their father passed the tall gates into the courtyard. When the carriage stopped near the house, Dalia looked outside the window. A large group of people stood outside the front door in two single lines. The back row had just guardsman, while the first had the family: Lord Eddard Stark was handsome and big like her father with an aura of seriousness surrounding him; Lady Catelyn Stark stood beside him proper and lovely for a woman her age. Their children were lined up next to them all wearing the same somber expressions. She worried even more for her happiness.

The men dismounted their horses and the women seen out of the stagecoach.

"Now Dalia," Her mother whispered, "Remember what I told you: Be polite, elegant and-most of all-control that tongue of yours. Understand?"

"Yes Mother."

They approached. This was the first time since the decision where the nerves came. Her stomach twisted into knots with each step, and her heart skipped beats. She tried concealing her anxiousness. She didn't care much whether they liked her, but the thought of ruining everything weighed on her shoulders. Disappointing her family was something she wanted to avoid. They completed their part of the bargain; she had to hold up her end. She glanced over at her mother, who gave a curt nod as she stood beside Nivia.

"Ned!" Her father said walking over to Lord Stark, "How long has it been?"

"Far too long," Ned replied. "How are things in the east?"

"Cold, of course. We've been seeing wildlings all over on our end. I assume it's because they know better than to come close to Winterfell-"

"-Or because your great-grandfather decided the Mason estate must been nestled deep in the woods," Her mother said.

More hugs and greetings were exchanged between the Masons and Starks while the children stood nearby. Grandfather Mason slid off his horse with the help of his steward; Dalia noticed his limp.

"Ah, Sir Kellan," Eddard said, bowing slightly, "Nice to see you gracing our halls again."

"Indeed I will be, Stark," Grandfather said. "Now, where's the wine? I'm absolutely parched, and my grandsons took the liberty of draining the bit we had."

Nobody stopped him as the old man broke through the human threshold and entered the house with his mousey steward trailing.

"Still as grumpy as I remember," Lady Stark said.

"How is he these days?" Ned asked, now more concerned.

"Today is one of his better days. He insisted upon coming with us, and you know how stubborn he is. Hopefully the wine doesn't kill him."

"It's rude to keel over in someone's home," Dalia let slip past her lips. When they all glanced her way, she added, "Grandfather's words; not mine."

She saw the stern face her mother gave her. Dalia knew she'd hear about it later on when they were alone. However, Lord and Lady Stark didn't seem offended.

"My Gods, they've all grown up so fast, Gareth" Eddard said, coming closer to the line of Mason family. He stood in front of Thorn first, going down the line as they all introduced themselves. Their father must have mentioned their skills due to the comments he made: Thorin being good with a sword, William's marksmanship, Mika's adventurous attitude, Antonia's intelligence and love for books, Nivia's beauty and angelic singing voice and finally…

"And you must be Dalia," He said, grinning. "I have been hearing a lot more about you in the past few days."

"Good things I hope," Dalia said.

"Only good things," Lady Stark said behind him. "Your mother's mentioned your talent with the needle."

"She honors me too much. I would say I have an easy grasp of it."

"And just as modest as you said, Gareth," Ned told her father, turning over to him.

Ned presented his own children: Two girls, the older with red-orange curls named Sansa, and a younger one named Arya who Dalia almost confused for a boy, but nevertheless had her father's dark hair and a long face; his youngest son, three-year-old Rickon, Bran the second youngest who resembled his mother with a mop of auburn hair, his ward Theon Greyjoy, a lean young man with dark curls and light eyes (Nivia gave a small giggle when he winked her way), and then he finally came to two other boys.

The rumors about Robb Stark's looks were true. He stood a foot higher than Dalia. She barely noticed the red in his hair until she came closer; bright blue eyes gazed back at Dalia with the same hidden apprehension she shared. He remained composed, but she could tell by his tense shoulders he did not wish to disappoint either. He gave a nod of the head towards her parents, but his eyes remained on her throughout the meeting.

"And this is my second oldest, Jon Snow."

Surprisingly, Dalia had heard a bit about Jon from the floating whispers through the north. From what she grasped, he was a bastard; an illegitimate child Ned Stark returned home with after the war. She knew because of his surname 'Snow', which was given to all orphan boys. He looked the most like Ned, except his eyes were dark-colored rather than light like his father's.

He also couldn't keep his eyes off her.


	2. Chapter 2: Robb

Robb would not lie: Dalia was beautiful. She definitely had the Mason family features: The milky oval face, green eyes underneath curled up eyelashes, and rosy cheeks. Her eyes were lighter than the rest of her family however. The dark hair she tied in a silk ribbon fell down her back in tresses reaching her elbows. Her navy blue dress clung tightly to her body, but the black fur cloak, black boots and black gloves she wore covered most of her. He sensed pleasantness about her he'd like to know better. Her quick comment definitely gained a smirk from him. Sadly, beauty can turn a head in one direction so it ignores the other side. She could be absolutely horrid for all he knew.

"I would definitely like to know that sister of hers," Theon said once they reached his quarters.

The sun was setting in the east side of the castle, leaving on a dim lighting in Robb's bedroom. Theon and Jon stood about in his room already dressed for the feast. Robb was told to look his best for the Mason family, which meant being clean-shaven with fresh attire and newly cut hair. He imagined what Dalia was like when placed out of formalities. He saw her as the kind to replace that with friendliness. They _would_ be married in a few days. Surely their relationship will be more than a simple duty they owed to their parents.

"And I'm sure she will like to know you as well," He told Theon, wiping the excess water from his face and picking up a shirt. "She seemed interested enough. She's pretty enough."

"Pretty? She's gorgeous," Theon said. "I can just imagine what she's like under-"

"-What about you Jon?" Robb asked, looking towards his half-brother. "See any you liked?"

"Not really," Jon replied distractedly.

Robb did not think much of Jon's tone, since larger matters were at hand. He passed it off as joining the Night's Watch wavering on Jon's mind. The boys dressed, and then walked down towards the feast. As he came within reach of the hall, he could hear the festivities already starting. The buzz of conversations floated over the music being played from the corner; he saw maids serving out drinks and even standing at tables while they spoke to the men, who were laughing and toasting to anything and everything before guzzling down their ales and wines. Enormous platters of food lined up the tables people ate from greedily. The spectacle turned out to be something special. At the high table at the end of the hall sat his mother, father, and Lord and Lady Mason. Curiously, he searched around for Ser Mason, who he found becoming awfully friendly with one of the younger maids. He grinned amusingly.

Jon broke away from him to one of the others tables. Ned Stark's bastard wasn't allowed to sit with the family, since Robb's mother didn't permit it. Theon moved with him to the lower table. His sisters sat there with his two brothers and a few friends, while he noticed them at the other end. Sansa was in conversation with Nivia and Antonia. He was glad they were getting along; they would be sister-in-laws soon. His eyes scanned around for her. He wanted to speak with her. Theon parted from him towards a blushing Nivia that saw him come over.

He spotted her down the table alone. Her eyes were focused on the crowds, merely observing from what he could tell. A small smile crept on her charming features.

"Are you enjoying the feast?" He opened with.

She turned to him. "Oh yes," Dalia answered, "It's very lovely."

"Lovely isn't really the word I'd use," He said, glancing over at a group of drunken men getting louder and louder nearby.

She giggled; he laughed with her. Her beauty amplified now that he was closer to her. He could not keep his eyes off her. Was this entrancement wrong? Too soon? His father once told him being attracted to a woman was natural. Shouldn't this be? She seemed too good to be real. An aura of warmth surrounded her; goodness Robb rarely saw in northern-folk.

"Do you want to marry me?" She asked him unexpectedly.

He hesitated. "Um…I'm not sure. I mean, you're a very good-looking girl, but I…"

"Barely know me?" She finished for him.

"Yes," He grabbed a cup of wine a maid poured for him, and gulped some of it. "The match was made so suddenly, I never had time to think on it."

"Not that we were given much of a choice," She said. "They both took it upon themselves to make the decision."

"I suppose they thought it was best for us both; we get their approval without having to try too hard. Imagine having to continuously look for suitors yourself because your father did not favor any of them. You might completely give up and become a septa or an old maid living with fifteen cats," They both laughed.

"Perhaps once we're married…we'll know one another better," He said, avoiding her gaze now.

"Perhaps," She said. He could hear the hope in her voice. "I hear you're an excellent swordsman."

"Oh, I would not say 'excellent'," Robb replied modestly. "I do have a better skill than most."

She smiled, "I'm sure my brother will challenge you soon. Thorin loves challenging people whom he believes have an equal skill. It's barbaric."

"He wants to better himself, and why shouldn't he? I've heard a few things about him myself. For instance, that rumor that he took down six wildlings all by himself or that he fought off a huge bear and its head sits above his fireplace."

"It was only three wildlings and this bear wasn't that big," She corrected him. "People tend to exaggerate the stories about my brothers."

"So the story about William shooting an arrow so fast it went straight through three wolves isn't true?"

"It was only 50 yards and only one wolf."

Robb nodded comprehensively. He could see Thorin defeating more than just three wildlings if he was given the chance. Finding the boy drunkenly singing the chorus of an old war song, taking in his stature and physicality, Robb couldn't see himself winning any duel against him. He turned back to Dalia, who had returned to her gazing during their silence.

"He's not as brutish as he seems," She told him. "His demeanor covers up the big softie underneath. The only place he's not his nicest is in battle or in the training yard. The boy takes his sword-fighting seriously, which I do not understand completely. Is being a good swordsman of that much importance?"

"When the possibility of a war stirring comes, it is," Robb told her. "Not that there will be one. I doubt it. Father says all is well in the Seven Kingdoms. We have nothing to fear."

"I'm glad. I don't want my husband suddenly shipped off to war the day after our wedding. I'll be a widow before I turn twenty-years."

Robb laughed, "I promise you that will never happen."

She smiled at him. Robb could not stop himself from smiling back.

"I do know one rumor that turned out to be true," He began, leaning into her and lowering his voice.

"And what would that be, sir?"

"That you are exceptionally beautiful."

His face came only a few inches from hers. A ting of blue mixed in with the green color in her eyes, but only slightly. Robb melted at them. His hand tentatively touched her elbow; his finger tips up against a strand of hair. His father told him a woman's love was in her eyes. Robb didn't expect to see pure attraction, but something lingered. He spotted the love most whilst she blushed. This action only made him want her more. He had never been a possessive man before, but the thought of another man touching this girl now made a monster rouse inside him for a minute. His hand slid onto the small of her back until it reached her other side. He tilted his head slightly. He had this urge to see what those pink lips felt like; how the gloss on them tasted.

"Robb," A voice cut through their moment. Arya stood there in between them. Robb felt like strangling her.

"What is it, Arya?" He gave Dalia a sideways glance and saw those rosy cheeks turn pinker.

"Father wishes to speak with you…Now."

Robb sighed irritably. He glimpsed over to his father and saw the forbidding look on his face. He had allowed temptation to overrule him. If the both of them did kiss, the deed might lead on to lying with her before their marriage. He did not see why this would trouble anyone. The parents fixed everything for them; they _were_ going to marry. Robb looked over to Dalia.

"I should go now, before he comes and pulls me away," He knew his father would.

She laughed, "That's fine, I must be heading to bed," She stood up with him. "Will I be seeing you later then?"

Robb nodded, "Of course. Maybe you can come to the training yard in the morning. No doubt your brothers will join us."

"Sounds interesting. I'll come watch then."

Thinking of Dalia standing on the balcony and watching him train suddenly made him nervous. He was sure he wouldn't be performing his best tomorrow. He pictured making a complete fool of himself. Robb truly wished to impress his lady. She came closer and placed her hand on his forearm. "Do not worry. I'll be as discrete as possible. The last thing our parents wish for is the groom getting stabbed with a wooden sword the day before his wedding."

He laughed nervously, and then watched her walk away; the place where her hand had been burned, as if it were still there. Arya giggled.

"You like her, don't you?"

"Yes…I believe I do."


	3. Chapter 3: Jon

Jon Snow walked out of the feast early and into the training yard. The bitter cold air surrounded him, flowing through his clothes and clinging on his skin. Jon barely felt the weather. The north had been his home for seventeen-years; the climate hardly affected him anymore. A steel blade in his hand, he slashed away at the stiff training dummy. Small chips of wood fell away whenever his blade struck; he pictured a real enemy instead of a simple dummy. Experience gained from real enemies, not training objects.

However, he did not think of his ambition this night. Instead, his mind filled with something else: The fair-skinned Dalia Mason; his brother's betrothed. Something about her made him think of nothing but her. He guessed at first glance her beauty, but his insides said differently. Dalia only just fit into her family; she appeared a little more outspoken than her sisters, whom had reputations of their own. He heard about Nivia's promiscuity and Antonia's old-fashioned personality, yet the oldest Mason sister was the most mysterious. He only heard about her sewing skills and her opinionated attitude. A piece of him wanted more than that.

These feelings led him to staring at her the whole night. He tried his best to look away, but his eyes shifted to the corners. What was more, Dalia glimpsed his way. Her warm grin forced his stomach to knot. His nerves settled once Robb distracted her, yet the one moment they were hushed she looked to him. They boiled at the sight of Robb closing into her. He slipped out before he saw anymore. The thought of their intimacy forced a chunk of the wooden dummy to come out.

Some soft brushed up against his thigh, which forced Jon to stare down. A pure white direwolf pup looked up at him with bright red eyes. Ghost had been the runt of the litter of direwolves the men had come across hunting. Jon had suggested each Stark child receive one. There were five children, five pups, and the insignia of the Stark House was a direwolf. Jon found Ghost sitting away from the group, so he took him.

Jon had always been the runt of the family.

"Do you think it's wrong of me?" He asked the wolf. "Is it wrong of me to find my brother's bride incredibly beautiful? So beautiful, in fact, I cannot keep my eyes from her? I try to keep her from my thoughts, but once she is gone, she creeps back. She is Robb's betrothed. How do I even know if my feelings are true? What if it's just an infatuation I'm having?"

Wonderful, now he was speaking to a wolf. Jon shook his head; he lifted his sword once more and continued training. A light suddenly coming from the hall doors distracted him. Lord Stark leaned against the doorway, a cup of wine in his hand. Jon assumed he wanted to escape the company that filled his hall.

"You departed earlier tonight," He told Jon, stepping out into the cold.

"I wanted to train alone," Jon lied.

His father sighed, "You know it is wrong."

Jon did not have to guess what his father was saying. He did not make eye contact with him; simply went on training. His father did not go away however, but treaded closer.

"Jon…She is Robb's bride. This fascination you have with her must end now before things become worse."

"I have no fascination."

"Do not lie to me, Jon. You have not kept your eyes off her since she arrived. You stand still whenever she enters a room and your eyes shift towards her when she sits; I saw the envy flash across your face when you watched Robb draw close to her." His voice grew firmer, "Put the girl out of your thoughts."

"She smiled back at me this night…at the feast."

"Out of friendliness," His father reasoned. "You will be her brother-in-law soon. She must show some kindness towards you. You're blinded by this love of yours. It puts these imaginations in your-"

"-I did not imagine it. Her smile said something to me. I could see the same in her eyes. She could not resist looking at me either; even as she sat with Robb she glimpsed my way. I imagined nothing. I know what I saw."

"Jon, take these ideas from your mind. They will only make things worse," Lord Stark told him. "I know what it is like to love a woman you cannot have. I loved your mother when I knew I was wedded to Catelyn. I could not keep myself away from her either. I warn you now because I do not want to see the result if you fall into temptation. I succumbed to the temptation and look what happened," He gestured to Jon.

Jon lowered his sword. Ghost sat beside him obediently, as quiet as the night around them. He saw no more reason to argue. He knew deep inside his father was right. What would happen if he ever found himself alone with her? Jon promised himself nothing will come of it. He even stayed away from women (or tried to) because of the fact he might father a bastard. Jon did not want to bring a child into this cruel world.

"I am tired," Jon said. "I think I will turn in now."

"Jon…"

"Goodnight, my Lord," He said.

"Jon…"

Jon ignored his father's calls. Ghost pattered behind him as they headed back into the castle. The corridor leading away from the hall was dimly lit with torches; the moonlight shined from the windows lining the hall. Jon knew the only real warmth in the room was the hot water running through the stone walls. He walked in silence as he slipped his sword back into its sheath.

What happened next Jon did not intend. He saw a slender figure striding along ahead of him. A long mass of dark hair flowed as a dress billowed around the ankles. Dalia walked alone. He had expected during the feast for Robb to return to her side; the two of them would drink wine and ale before sneaking off underneath the watchful eyes of their parents, and in the mist of the drunkenness kisses and touches would lead into blissful lovemaking. It surprised him to see her unaccompanied. Ghost took it upon himself to head over to her.

"Oh hello," Dalia said in a kind voice, "What are you doing out here?" He watched her bend down in front of Ghost and scratch behind his head, "You must be one of the pups. You're a unique one."

Ghost put his head underneath Dalia's hand and the girl petted him. Jon froze in place. What shall he do? Approach her or head back in another direction? He thought about the possible outcomes. He moved a few steps closer.

"My lady," Jon said as he moved forward.

She looked over to him and then stood. "Oh, Lord Snow-"

"-Please, no need for 'Lord'. I'm not a Lord here," He hated the name.

"My apologies, I did not know. I simple assumed, since you were…" She searched for a subject change. She looked down to Ghost, "Is this your pup?"

"Yes. His name is Ghost," Jon replied. "He seems to like you."

She grinned, "Is he always so friendly?"

"Only when I'm around." There was a small peace among them before Jon said, "Why are you not at the feast, my lady?"

"I grew tired of watching old drunken men sing old war songs or playing dice, so I decided to turn in for the night," She replied. The both of them began to walk down the hall together, "And why are you out here in such cold weather? Training, I presume?" She nodded to the sword in its leather sheath.

"Yes. I always take the opportunity when the training yard is empty," He said to her. "I feel at ease when I train."

"Oh, I thought you might have become uninterested in me."

"Par-Par-Pardon?" Jon stammered some.

She giggled, "I noticed you staring at me. You should work more on your discretion than your swordsmanship."

The cold no longer bothered Jon. Thank the Gods the torches were diffused; otherwise she'd spot the rush of blood filling his cheeks. A hand combed through his messy curls nervously as he searched for something to say. He had never met a girl so forward before.

"Was it so obvious then?" He asked.

"Yes, but there's no use in worrying. I didn't mind. I thought it was sweet."

'Sweet'. His father might have been right after all.

"Do you always watch girls so intently," They marched up a flight of stairs and reached the landing, "Or is it only me?"

"Only you," Jon said boldly. His eyes tore away from her for a moment, but glanced back to her for a reaction. She grinned.

"Well," She said, "Don't I feel special?"

He returned the beam. Dalia Mason seemed a girl of many surprises. The couple moved down the passage towards her chambers; they talked about his ambition of wearing the black of the Night's Watch and general things about her. Jon wanted to know everything about her. Occasionally she'd sneak in questions for him, but he told her very little. A noble lady like herself was far more interesting than a bastard son.

Finally, they reached the last room in the hall. Jon imagined for a moment entering her bedroom. He could see her undressing: Those silks and cloths falling away from her body, leaving her exposed to him completely. Jon never thought too much on girls; Dalia was the only one he pictured himself with now.

Still, Jon remained standing outside her door.

"Will you be in the yard with Robb in the morning?" She asked.

"Most likely not," He replied.

"And why not?" She furrowed her eyebrows curiously.

"Lady Stark believes her husband's bastard son being around other nobles might be a…embarrassment." He looked away from her at the last word.

"That does not seem fair," She told him; she gave off the impression of being disappointed. "I looked forward to seeing your hard work put to good use."

His spirits lifted hearing this. Hearing she anticipated watching him in the yard made him feel her attraction might be real.

"Perchance you may another day," Jon told her.

"So, you are truly joining the Night's Watch then?" He sensed the concern in her tone.

"Yes," He nodded, "It will give me the purpose I have been searching for. I do not fit anywhere else in this world. No one sees me as Jon Snow; they only see me as the bastard Eddard Stark brought him when he returned from war. I did not even receive his last name; they gave me the name 'Snow' because I had no real family. The Night's Watch might give me a chance to prove I am more than what people call me."

"It won't be so easy, or at least what my grandfather tells me," She said. "He told me things are harder up there than here. That's why he didn't allow my father to join, and always advises my brothers against it. They're only lordlings. 'Only certain people are meant for the wall', he tells me. 'It is not for the weak'."

"I am not weak. I will make it through to become a man of The Wall. No need to worry for me, my lady."

"I will regardless."

Stillness sat between them. Jon admired how the faint torch light shadowed her features some; she glowed. He could not suppress the smile that went across his face right then.

"Goodnight, Jon," She said, opening the door to her chambers.

"Goodnight, m'lady," He said to her.

Jon began moving down the path before her voice made him turn round.

"Jon…I thought you should know, I think you are more than a mere bastard. So much more."

He remained speechless as she gave him one last look and then shut the door. Ghost brushed his head into Jon's hand. Jon did not pet him. He only stood there in the middle of the hall, his eyes focused on the wooden door. The only thing he felt was his heart pounding against his chest.


	4. Chapter 4: Dalia

The training yard reminded Dalia of the one at home. The same wooden dummies stood along the sides with archery targets across from them; their armory was nearby with the blacksmith's door open as he hammered hot steel; she watched their Master-At-Arms loom over the boys as the sound of blades clashing echoed faintly. He occasionally called out suggestions; clapped for the winner of the 'match', which has so far been either Thorin or Robb. The frigid weather did not keep them from entering the yard and showing off their skills. However, it made Dalia almost change her mind about coming. No wind blew today, yet stayed still in the air. The summers in the north were nothing compared to winter. She tightened the furs around her body to seal up their warmth.

She stood on the balcony overlooking the yard. She arrived later in the middle of training so Robb worked at his best. She promised him discretion. Her eyes followed him, observing her future husband's every move. He really was as practiced as they said. He befriended her brothers from what she saw. At the moment he spoke with William, even laughing at a joke being told. She smiled to herself. She had no company of her own this morning: Nivia went off somewhere with Sansa and Antonia accompanied their mother and Lady Stark with wedding preparations. Her mother requested Dalia join, yet when she mentioned spending time with Robb (despite the fact she wasn't _really_), her mother excused her.

There was one matter that ambled in her mind: Jon Snow. One moment her mind was clear; the next the night played there. Whenever she saw him, the world moved around him and left him in her view. Her eyes caught sight of him whether she wanted to or not. Guilt pained her stomach. She tried ignoring the fact they could not keep their eyes away from each other. She caught herself staring at him throughout the evening until he left. Then during their meeting in the corridor, her insides twisted. Surely he felt the same. Her mother told her having an interest in someone is a natural thing; as long as she did not act on her feelings, things were fine.

Though, last night, she had wanted to act. Even after being tempted into kissing Robb. Her smile faded. She felt like a whore.

"And what is my lady granddaughter doing alone in this weather?"

Her grandfather emerged from the landing of the stairs absent his steward. Dalia could not overlook the paleness of his skin; the large girth he once had shrunk considerably; his hair had thinned and nearly left him bald. He even coughed into his arm, limping over to her with his walking stick. She attempted masking her frown, but she knew he noticed. He said nothing about it, and set himself by her.

"Watching the boys train," She said, "Mother allowed me to stay behind. My fitting would be later today."

"I assume because she believes you are spending time with your husband?" He guessed with a grin.

She nodded, "When you think on it, I am. We will be together soon. He is busy now, and I do not want to disturb him."

"And because you do not wish to be in the company of your lady Mother and your sister." He took her silence as an answer.

"Where is Korbin?" She asked him to change the subject. "I expected him to be here."

"Ah I sent him to his daily chores. I despise being hovered over like a newborne babe. I am a man who can care for himself. I tended to my wounds that time in the forest. I healed myself when I grew ill from the cold. Why do I need some little boy trailing after me like a lost pup?"

"Because you are not the young man you used to be," Dalia said. "We all worry for you. Your health has not improved and Father fears the worst."

He sighed, "My son needs to accept my possible death. If there is one enemy man cannot escape, it is death," He shifted from one foot to another to take ease, "In my days as a knight, our Lord Commander told us 'Real men admit to their faults. Real men stand for justice. Real men do not cower from enemies, and when the time comes, they embrace death.' When the healers told me I will die, I must confess I feared for myself too. No man ever really wishes to die. Death comes to us naturally. Eventually, I began to accept my fate. The only way to evade is miraculous recovery." He gave a small grin, "Which is why I spend my days eating heartily and drinking when I can. If I am going to die, I will do it happy."

"I never saw you as the kind of man to waste away in a sickbed," Dalia told him.

"I wish your father would see so."

The two of them examined the boys, and then Dalia asked: "Grandfather, what do you think of Jon Snow?"

"Snow?" He thought for a moment, "I have heard about Snow from his uncle Benjen. I have spoken to him on one occasion: The last time I visited this house. He is a good swordsman, as well as a kind-hearted boy; respectful for a bastard son. Why do you ask?"

"Merely curious. I spoke with him the other night on my way to bed."

"Ah, I would've thought the question held much more meaning than that. Considering the fact you seemed much more fascinated by him than poor Robb Stark at the feast."

"That was nothing," She said tensely.

He laughed his hearty laugh, "If I received a gold dragon for every time I heard those words, I could purchase all the Seven Kingdoms."

She laughed along with him. Her laughter caught the attention from the boys below. Robb's eyes met hers and they both exchanged smiles. He came closer to the balcony; he stood with both hands on the hilt of his sword, looking up at her still.

"Good morrow, my lady," Robb said. "I hoped very much to see you this morning."

"And why is that, ser?" She asked, still smiling with pink cheeks.

"So I may gaze upon your face…"

She giggled and blushed, "My lord…you honor me too much."

"No, I admire you too much…Come down from there. I'll teach you how to shoot an arrow properly if you'd like," He offered, gesturing to the bows and quivers hanging on the wall.

She looked to her grandfather for approval. He gave her a curt nod; she walked down the stairs and rounded into the courtyard. The summer snow covered corners and places on the dirt ground, while the winds were not as threatening as before. Robb greeted her with a long wooden bow and a quiver full of arrows. She took them gratefully. The arrows were lighter than they looked; mere sticks balancing in her hand. She stood a few feet away from the target; Robb stood beside her and placed her hands in the right positions. The temperature between them switched as they drew closer together. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck; it sent shivers down her spine.

"Now, look for a place on your target," He pointed to the target stand on the far side of the yard, "And let go."

Dalia decided going for the centered red dot in the middle would not be the wisest choice for a first time. Her eyes settled on the white outer rim; then released. The arrow grazed the top of the target, but sailed passed it. Her brothers snickered from the side. However, she Dalia glared their way, they turned their heads.

"Try standing straight," Robb said, "Keep your feet apart slightly, that way you will not fall back when you fire. Try again."

She attempted to shoot the arrow a second time. The arrow landed on the very side of the white edge, causing a few hints of straw to fall. She looked over to Robb with a grin.

"Much better," Robb said. "Try not to think about it too much."

She took his advice, and shot near the center. Robb told her she was doing well for someone lacking practice with archery. Her grandfather even clapped.

"If she keeps on like this, she might be as good as William," He said beaming.

William laughed, "That will never happen."

"Now William," Grandfather said, "Never doubt a woman's talent. They might surprise you." He began walking back the way he came, "You children enjoy yourselves. This old man's on the search for a good drink."

Once he disappeared, Robb asked her, "Is he even allowed wine?"

"No," Thorn said, approaching them both, "But he insists on it. I swear it, if the illness doesn't kill him, his drinking will."

"Don't speak like that," Dalia said. "His health has been improving."

"By close to nothing," William said, slipping his quiver over his shoulder. "The maesters say his health could slip again if he doesn't maintain himself."

Dalia ignored him and continued practice. Thorin and William took this as their sign to leave; Theon followed them. She deduced they were leaving the two of them alone together. Dalia didn't mind. She liked being alone with Robb; she could know him better that way.

"I agree with you," He told him, when she finally ran out of arrows. "Your grandfather appears healthier than the last time he visited Winterfell."

"Our master at home says his health remains on a scale. Some days he is well and others he is worse. Today is one of his better days," Dalia said, facing him now.

"I admire you," Robb spoke. "Even though his health hangs in a balance," He came closer and held her hands in his, "Yet you still hold on to hope of his improvement. When my grandfather grew ill, I worried for him; preparing myself for his death. You refuse believing he will pass."

"Because I love him," She said. "He was there when my father could not. He nearly raised me. I will not watch him fade away from us."

When she looked away from him, he brought her eyes back. She was back in the hall, during the feast; she stared into his eyes and saw the interest. She knew she should feel lucky. How many girls can say they were marrying someone like Robb? Handsome and brave with a heart of gold and a tender hands? Gazing up at him, another set of eyes replaced his: The deep brown hues of Jon Snow. She recalled the nervousness hidden in them during their time together; he seemed so shy, though he covered it with kindness. She grinned at the reflection of his blushing cheeks when she attempted flirtation. She thought about how his face appeared in the glow of the torches. His features were more apparent than ever. His smile, his voice, his laugh all clouded her mind. Robb made her feel like a princess, but Jon made her feel…human.

Her eyes tore away from his to the sword rack nearby. "Can I try one of them?" She asked.

Robb laughed, "And why would you want to learn to sword fight? I am already doing damage teaching you archery."

"Damage?" She said humored. "What sort of damage would you be doing?"

"I've been told women should have more delicate interests, like needlework or dancing. Combat is, apparently, strictly for men." He gently took the bow and quiver from her, "I don't fully believe that though. Arya shows the same curiosity as you do."

"Well, I don't plan on taking up knighthood or the black," She laughed. "I believe a woman should have some knowledge of defense. In times like these, we should be able to protect ourselves. My grandfather taught my grandmother a bit about swordsmanship when they were wed. He said women have strength; all you have to do is find out where."

"But you would have a husband;" Robb said with a smile, "Who would make sure you are always safeguarded."

She grinned at him. "But what if you were unable to do so? I need to have some experience in battle, don't I?"

"You disbelieve my capabilities?" He said amusedly.

"No, my lord. I have seen you fight, so there is no doubt in your capabilities. However, when you're facing a real enemy, I hope you will not be using a wooden sword," She picked up the sword he had placed on the ground, feeling the smoothness of the make. Her eyes glanced his way, "I think you would be at a great disadvantage there."

He laughed, taking the sword from her. He tossed it aside and brought her close to him. His warmth felt comforting. Yes, they were in summer weather, but that did not mean there was no chill. Robb brushed a strand of hair from her face before leaning in slightly. He did not kiss her lips, but pressed his own to the side of her mouth. Her cheeks turned a faint pink when he looked back at her.

"I now see the blessing the Gods have given me." He kissed her forehead before someone in the distance spoke his name. It sounded much like his father's voice. "Excuse me, my lady. Father calls."

He released her back into the cold, leaving her there as he approached his father on a black stallion horse. She supposed the men were going on a hunt. She watched him depart from his father back into the castle. Then another man rode up to her, and dismounted his horse.

"I knew you two would grow fond of each other," Her father said, stopping a few feet from her, "Or at least that he would be fond of you."

She sighed, knowing the conversation ahead, "My supposed infatuation with Jon Snow is nothing."

"I seem to be the only one around here who believes that….well, along with your grandfather…the old man knows everything," He said.

"He once said the moment you realize your days are numbered, you begin to see the world clearer than before," She moved to the target and began plucking out arrows. "He also said we all ought to learn to accept his inevitable death, and then we will not weep as much."

"Your lord grandfather says a lot of things." He stood next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, "I know how much you love him, but his time is slowly passing. We cannot hold onto the dream of him somehow regaining health. It would take the Gods will to-"

"-If we lose hope now, what good will it do him? I don't want him…" She hesitated, the words caught in her throat for a moment, "I don't want him dying thinking nobody believed he could recover."

"Dalia…" He turned her to face him, "Sweetling, you say we should accept the future, but yet you reject the unavoidable truth. How can that be acceptance?" He saw the tears beginning to brim her eyes, and embraced her. "People have said that is the trouble with you, Dalia Mason…you are too green. Come, your mother wishes to see you and I must be off for a hunt with Ned."

He guided her back into the house while she held back her tears. They always hated seeing her cry.


	5. Chapter 5: Gareth

Gareth stared deep into the crackling fire. He watched the flames move around the burning logs like water dancers. A sea of warmth filled the bedroom as the night air became colder; his robes fell around him as he sat in his armchair, continuing to gaze into the fire. He held onto a crumpled letter, which he had crushed with his strong hand. Stag horns were stamped into the yellow seal he had torn opening the letter. Gareth was not sure why the words etched into the paper bothered him. He and Robert had been friends for years; they had fought side-by-side during the war against Aerys the Mad King. He supposed Robert's wife was the trouble. Sora would not be pleased to hear the news.

He turned his head towards the window, seeing the cold summer winds rustling the tree branches outside. He thought of Dalia, and how she had been born on a night such as this. His mother always told him having your wedding on a day similar to the day you were birthed is a good omen. He prayed her words were true. After seeing her with Robb today, there could be no doubt about who his daughter likes...but her walking out in the middle of a feast to follow Jon outside could not be ignored. Yes, he thought everyone worried too much over it. Dalia told him this morning it was nothing, and he never had reason to question her. She was young. He couldn't count the times he caught himself "falling in love".

"Gareth?" A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked over his shoulder to see his lady wife, Sora, walk into the room. 'Till this day he still thought she walked on clouds. She seemed to glide over to him, her thin powder blue bed clothes and robes trailing behind her. He turned away from her, but heard her footsteps move closer to him. Her felt her slender hands sit on his broad shoulders. He placed his own on top of one, holding it in his grasp affectionately.

There stood a brief silence between them before she spoke: "She looks beautiful in her dress."

"I'd never imagine she wouldn't," He replied. "She takes a lot after you."

Sora smiled, kissing the top of his head. She moved away to a table nearby where the pitcher of wine he brought sat. "I have never seen her so excited before. Robb will love her."

"I believe he already does," He said. Should he tell her now or in the morning? "I saw them today in the yard. He would have kissed her if Ned hadn't stopped them."

"I only wish she was as fond of him as he was," Sora said, bringing him a cup of wine.

"Your meaning?"

"Oh, don't pretend, Gareth. You saw the way she followed that Snow bastard out of the feast last night. You saw how they gaped at each other. You know as well as I do that is not a good sign. Even Cat agrees with me," Her voice grew stiff, "Who knows what she and Ned will do if they suspect anything going on between them. They will toss her aside like garbage just like your father had done to me."

"You worry too much, Sora. They know just as much as we do as of now. She told my father it was nothing," He said. He knew she would bring this to him. Gareth sipped some of his wine and sunk into the chair, "You know Dalia. She would never do that to Robb. I believe she is at least a bit interested."

"I trust Dalia…It is Jon Snow I do not trust."

"Why is that? He is a perfectly respectable lad."

"He is also a man. Our daughter's beauty is highly apparent if you have not seen. The fact that he hasn't laid a hand on her surprises me. "When Gareth did not respond, she sighed, "I have seen affairs destroy marriages-"

Gareth saw this conversation only getting worse. He broke her words and suddenly said: "The King rides here to Winterfell."

"-He lived to regret it till the end of his- wait, what?"

"Robert will arrive early in the morning. Ned said he seeks words with him and he also wishes to attend the wedding." He handed her the letter. Once she read, she handed it back. He saw her annoyance remained, so he said: "It would do both Robb and Dalia a great honor. Only high lords and ladies have the honor of having The King at their weddings."

She sighed heavily, "Fine. I will see to it there is more food and wine available. Now things must be twice as perfect as before…and to think we were having a small wedding. You know he will be bringing half his guard with him! And his children! And the Queen!" She grunted, "Ugh, to have to look upon her smug face again. I thought I would never have to."

"Sora," He stood up and held her, "I understand the history between the both of you, but you must put that aside. She will only be here a few days, no more. Please do not ruin our daughter's day-"

"-Do you think I would? This wedding has been planned for months. I will not ruin it now," She said affronted.

"I mean only to keep peace."

"She nearly stole you from me!" She suddenly said, releasing herself from his arms. "Do you remember that day? The day your father decided I was no longer good enough for you because the Lannisters had more money and more land? The day when I felt so belittled next to that self-important bitch? I do. I remember the sneer she gave me as she passed by. She thought so highly of herself even then."

Gareth settled his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her arms, "But you won in the end, didn't you?"

He gave her a grin when she settled down. He kissed her tenderly as he did the first day they met, kept her to his chest. "I had never wanted her," He whispered, "I wanted you. I always wanted you. No other woman will ever compare to you."

Her contagious smile beamed at him. She kissed him again. Unfortunately, they were broken up by the sound of the door opening. Mika walked into the room; he stared up at his parents with the sweet innocence of a ten-year-old. He stayed there in his bed clothes with a small stuffed soldier clutched in his hand.

"I told Septa Gloria to put you to bed," Sora said, "You should not be up at this hour."

"I saw them," Mika told her. "They were kissing in the yard. I thought they weren't allowed to do that."

No, they were not. Gareth thought his daughter better than that. He hoped to all of Seven Kingdoms the 'them' Mika spoke of was not her and Snow. She had even told him the feelings were nothing. He could not bear hearing his daughter had been bedded by a bastard…or even bedded at all. It would break his heart, as well as Robb's. The boy seemed so in love. Gareth sensed this same worry beginning to surge inside his wife. She bent down to his eye level.

"Saw who kissing, my love?" She brushed hair from his face.

"Nivia and Theon Greyjoy," He said. "I was walking outside because I couldn't sleep and I saw them go in her room."

Sora looked to Gareth. "It's your turn. I'll take Mika back to bed. "

He sighed before walking out the door. "At least it wasn't them."


	6. Chapter 6: Jon

He walked alone tonight; he let Ghost go off hunting elsewhere. Jon could not stand company tonight, especially with the thoughts turning in his head. He remembered her in the yard today. He heard her words, hearing her talking of defense and combat. He even saw her cry into her father's arms, whether she hid it from him or not. Jon had made sure she hadn't seen him. He loved watching her: Observing her every move, heeding her words and seeing her smile. He loved his brother, yet envied him the same.

Jon never prayed to the Old Gods before; there had never been need. However, considering the course of these few days, he searched for solitude. His boots crunched on the dead leaves and twigs; his eyes spotted the murky pool near the large Heart Tree. He wrapped his furs around him tighter in the cold winds. Sitting on the bench in front of the tree, he stared. The face carved into the white bark disturbed him with its blood red eyes dripping with crimson sap; the leaves rustled in the chill as if The Gods were speaking to him; the white branches were thick and twisted. Jon did not pray aloud, but he did in silence. He prayed for strength and forgiveness. He felt guilty longing after a woman sworn to his brother.

The sound of muffled footsteps caught his ear. Emerging from the darkness of the trees was Dalia. She wore her bed clothes, flowing frills of a pure white covered by wool and fur robes and boots. Jon's heart jumped into his throat.

"Oh Jon, it's you," She said, "I believed myself alone."

She sat beside him on the bench. The same sensation of warmth rushed over him as he gazed intently at the tree. She looked at him.

"Do you believe in The Old Gods too?" She asked.

"Yes, though I have never prayed to them," Jon said.

"Neither have I," She replied. She stared at the Heart Tree with him in peace. "The wedding will be held here, my mother says, but I wished to pray alone. I wish for them to bless my marriage. I do not the same as my grandparents, where my grandfather lied with whores while my grandmother knitted in the next room. I want love and affection; respect and admiration."

Jealousy roused inside his gut. "You already have all those things. Robb...is in love with you."

"My mother said her parents started such a way...and then my uncle was borne."

Jon stared over to her, "Your uncle?"

"I'm told his surname is Flowers. Aiden Flowers. You see, my mother's father had a fondness for whores. So much, in fact, it's rumored he's fathered four bastard children…all scattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Aiden was the first of the four. It happened around the same time my grandmother gave my uncle, Ser Raylin Tyrell, to the world. My grandmother refused giving him any more children, because he had others."

"Have you met him?"

"Once," She answered. "He lives in Highgarden with the rest of my mother's family. I met him when my mother took my siblings and me to visit. He looks so much like my grandfather...I see the look in my grandmother's eyes whenever they cross paths. She hates him. She hates the knowing her husband bedded other women. I don't want such hate. I want Robb to love me, and me only. What if he turns the same and impregnates some whore? What if he brings it back with him? What if he loves her more than me?"

"Robb would never do that to you. He's not that kind of man," Jon assured her.

"Not now, but what if he is in the future?"

His eyes glanced to her hand. It sat on her lap inches from his. Grasping her small hand in his crossed his mind. However, the thought of touching her scared him. He hesitated

"Did you know your mother, Jon?" She asked.

Jon paused, and then said: "No. I didn't. My father brought me here when I was an infant. He won't even tell me her name; whether she's alive or dead; whether she's some lady's handmaiden or a whore in a brothel somewhere. Nothing."

"Have you asked him?"

"Of course," Jon said, "I asked him hundreds of times, but he gave me the same answer: 'I'll tell you when you're older'. After a while, I stopped asking. I don't think he'll ever tell me."

She scooted closer on the small bench. "You're older now; almost of age. Perhaps if you ask now, he'll tell you."

"I suppose."

He felt her eyes on him, and he timidly returned. She giggled. "What?"

"You truly are different, Jon."

"How so?"

"Other boys flirt or stare at me whenever I'm around them. You blush and look away. They try acting calm, while you stiffen. You're afraid your mind will lose control of your tongue and you'll say something stupid, which is why you're so careful. You go red when I am too forward or point out things about you."

"Do not," Jon said tensely.

"Yes you are," She said, "You're doing it now…There's no reason to be afraid of me."

"On the contrary, my lady," He looked at her, "There is."

"And what would that be?"

Jon thought the words, but could not say them. _'I've become dangerously attracted to you…I fear your touch, but want to feel you.'_ His lips denied him. Jon only looked into her eyes now, taking in their shape and color. He felt himself falling into them. Their green swirls bewitched him, forcing him to surrender and bend for her. His body drew towards hers. Her warmth circled him, blocking out all cold. Jon could die here with her, in sight of the Old Gods themselves; he'd show them how much he wanted her.

"Did you hear that?"

He found himself again. Dalia turned her head into the darkness of the trees nearby. The intrigue she had lost itself in a new found fear. Jon's hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword. He searched around for moving shadows or figures beyond the threshold of trees; he listened keenly for sounds that broke the winds whistling. Innocently, he hoped Ghost had made the noise. Perhaps the direwolf found his way back. A swift figure in the night told him otherwise.

"Dalia, go back to your room," Jon said to her.

"No," She said, "I'm not leaving you out here."

"Go, Dalia," He said again. "Now before it-"

"-Jon, look out!"

The wolves emerged from the forest, baring their teeth and growling. He counted three of them, all shades of grey and white, their paws treading on the ground as they slowly approached. He assumed the leader was the largest. Jon wondered how many he could kill before they reached Dalia. The black-haired youth removed his sword from its sheath and held it in front of him. The moment they were close, the largest one launched itself at Jon. A clumsy swing of his sword missed the beast which landed on top of him. The other two went for Dalia who screamed.

"Dalia!"

Jon shielded his face from the wolf on his chest. He screamed in pain, yet his ears searched for Dalia's voice. His sword sat inches from his hand, which he desperately tried to grab as he attempted holding off the wolf. Hot breath came over him like a fog, and the low growls filled his ears; its heavy figure weighed on him. Blood seeped through Jon's clothes. Dalia's safety was all that mattered; he needed his sword. Soon, his glove found the metal hilt, yet with a quick flash of white, the wolf tore off him.

Jon didn't have time for watching Ghost tussle around with the wolf leader in the snow. He stood up and ran towards Dalia. Armed with a large tree branch, his lady swung a large tree branch around, hitting them here and there as she shouted his name. Running, Jon swiped his sword at one, who whimpered as the blade ran through his back and to the ground. Dalia stabbed the other's eye with the pointy end of the stick, the end coming out the other side soaked in blood.

Ghost sat by his side, looking up at his with a blood covered muzzle and indifference. Apparently, this fight had not been his first. Jon bent down and scratched the direwolf behind his ears.

"You did well, Ghost. Really well," He said. He peered over to Dalia.

"You're hurt," She said worriedly. She moved swiftly and held his injured arm. "We need to get you to Maester Luwin quickly. Oh…It looks terrible." She pulled out a handkerchief and tied it around his arm as much as she could.

"I've had worse," He told her.

Jon felt relieved when she laughed with him. The two of them walked back to Winterfell together where they found Maester Luwin wide awake in his bedroom. He examined Jon's injury and began cleaning the wound. Dalia lit a fire that filled the room with warmth. She knelt by Ghost who allowed her to wipe to blood off him with a damp cloth.

"And how exactly did you two end up in the godswood so late at night?" Maester Luwin said, wiping off the excess blood from Jon's arm.

"I was praying to the Heart Tree," Dalia said truthfully, "And Jon found me. We were sitting together when the wolves came and attacked us both."

"Ghost and I managed to kill off two of them," Jon told him, "And Dalia killed the third."

"He saved my life," Dalia said, "And you have my thanks."

"I only did what any other man would have," Jon replied, his heart pumping against his ribs.

They smiled at each other before the door opened. "Oh Dalia!" Dalia's sister, Antonia, swept into the room and came by her sister's side. Nivia casually followed. "Dalia, thank the gods you're unharmed."

"How did you two know I was here?" Dalia asked them.

"We saw you coming in from the godswood with," Nivia looked over to Jon with a knowing smirk; as if she could see through him, "And Toni insisted we come find you."

"We knew you would be here," Antonia said. "What happened to you?"

"It seems Snow and Lady Mason found themselves at the mercy of three wolves in the godswood," Maester Luwin answered. "Lady Mason came out unscathed, but the same cannot be said for Jon here. These wounds will take time to heal."

Antonia gasped at Jon's wound; Nivia seemed unnerved.

"Well, thank the gods Lord Snow found you, Dalia," Antonia said. "You could have been killed. You know we're not allowed in the woods at night; anything could be out there just…waiting to pounce."

"Yes, indeed," Maester Luwin said. "You chose a poor time for prayer, my lady. The woods are not safe in these hours. I believe your lord father will agree with me."

"In fact I do maester…"

Gareth Mason stood in the doorway with a heavy black robe over his bed clothes. He stared sternly down at Dalia. Jon felt suddenly intimidated. With the broad shoulders and the scar across his face, he raised the tension in the room. Right now, Jon did not see Dalia's father, he saw Lord Mason of Tower Hill, a fierce warrior with his double-bladed axe who wore shiny black armor into battle. He took a few long strides inside, and looked down at his daughters.

"Toni told me she saw you going into the godswood," Dalia glared at her sister, who looked apologetic. "You deliberately disobeyed me, Dalia. I expected you of all people to know these woods are not safe, not even the godswood anymore. You're lucky it was only wolves and nothing worse."

"I'm sorry, Father. I thought I'd be safe in the godswood-"

"We will speak later," He turned away from his daughters and looked at Jon. All of Jon's hairs stood on end. "And you, Snow? What were you both doing there so late?"

Jon sensed the suspicion in Lord Mason's eyes. He knew what they were all thinking. He repeated the story to him. He told him about everything; only leaving out their conversation and how Jon nearly kissed Dalia. As he spoke, he noticed Lord Mason growing softer. When Jon finished, Lord Mason looked over his shoulder.

"Is this true, Dalia?"

"Every word, Father. If Jon hadn't been there, you would be giving me to the old gods instead of Robb."

At this statement, Lord Mason stared down at Jon. "I thank you, Snow and that wolf of yours. It was a brave and honorable thing. I respect that, and I don't respect many."

"Thank you, my lord."

Lord Mason turned back around to his daughters. "You think considering tomorrow's events, I'd be allowed some peace and quiet," He grumbled, "First Mika, then Nivia, and now you. Go to bed. We have important business in the morrow."

All three girls walked out of the room. Lord Mason nodded to Maester Luwin and Jon, and then marched after his daughters. For a moment, Jon wondered what the man would've done if he told him it was his love for Dalia that killed the wolf…not his honor or bravery.


	7. Chapter 7: Dalia

_The crowd was vast. It appeared everyone in all The Seven Kingdoms arrived. Dalia stared around at the masses. There seemed many more than what her mother counted; they stretched out even further than the trees. They all beamed as she rode past them on her horse. Her dress was different: The fur was smoother, cleaner; the medallions on her belt shone brighter; the golden patterns on the hems glittered like real gold. She looked at the decorations: They had been changed. They were not white and red, but white and black. The roses were black, the seats were black, even the leaves on the Heart Tree were black. Nevertheless, her smile never faltered. The murky pool in the godswood was clear and shimmering in the sunlight; the thin layer of morning snow did not crunch underneath her horse's hooves, but instead glided them closer to the tree._

_Ahead of her, she saw Robb, but not next to Maester Luwin. He stood behind someone dressed in a black fur cloak, doublet, breeches and boots. The groom's hair was shorter than she remembered; his eyes glimmered in the sunlight; everything about Jon Snow screamed perfection. He gave her his bright smile as she slid off her horse._

_A flash of white and they were in the great hall the size of the Citadel. She danced across the hall in Jon's arms. The foot-stomping music faded into a slow hum. Everyone admired the couple as they moved, but Dalia barely noticed. She only saw Jon. He pulled her close, his lips pressing softly on hers. _

_Then they were in his bedroom, naked underneath blankets and furs, heavily kissing and touching. He broke away from her, a small grin across his face._

_"I love you Dalia."_

She woke with a start. The summer sun peeked in through the cracks of her window curtains, giving a dim light to the bedchamber. She stared around bemused, as if she expected Jon nearby. Moments passed before she realized she had been dreaming…just dreaming. Even more moments passed upon remembering what today brought. Her stomach churned. She wondered: Would she be as nervous about it if she were marrying Jon and not Robb? Dalia tried pushing the dream out of her head, and ran a hand through her messy curls.

"Ah good, you're awake." Her mother walked into the room with Antonia and Nivia behind her, "Today is the day, Dalia: The day you finally become a woman."

Nivia helped her out of her bed clothes, while Antonia called in servants to bring hot bath water. Her mother picked out a dress for the day. Dalia noticed her sisters wearing their finest dresses: Nivia wearing a navy blue dress hemmed in gold stitching and her black hair pinned up to trail down her back, and Antonia wore a gold string tied around a powder blue and pink dress with her ribbons in her dark waves. The servants brought in a tub and placed it by the fireplace; thick clouds of steam rose from the pouring water.

"Why are you two dressed so…nice, today?" Dalia asked, looking over Nivia's dress.

"The King rides here to Winterfell, and you will look your best," Her mother said as Dalia stepped into the hot waters.

"But my wedding is today!" Dalia said. "I'm supposed to be married!"

"And you will be, darling," Her mother said, pulling out a dress from her trunk. "The King will be in attendance today…" Dalia noticed the aggravated tone in her mother's voice.

"I thought you said he wasn't coming." Dalia settled herself into the water, the heat prickling all over her body and stinging slightly. She didn't mind, she liked it.

"Obviously," Nivia said, "He changed his mind."

"It's a great honor to have a King at your wedding," Antonia smiled, taking out hair pins from a box ad placing them on the vanity. They were white pearls the size of peas; metal clamps stuck out from the end. "It is supposed to bring good luck."

Nivia laughed, "Oh yes, having a fat drunkard at your wedding is _definitely_ a good omen."

"Nivia…" Her mother said warningly.

"What? It is true. Everyone knows King Robert only eats when he's not drinking or fucking whores-"

"-Nivia!" Her mother snapped, "What have I told you?"

"Young ladies don't have foul mouths…"

"No they do not."

Dalia thought to herself as her mother and sisters moved about the room. Being married in front of a large group of people already unnerved her; having The King and Queen there only made things worse. She could not make a fool of herself today; she could not embarrass her family. Today, Dalia Mason would become Dalia Stark, wife to Robb Stark, future Lord of Winterfell. Her hands quaked slightly.

"Don't be nervous, sweetling," Her mother handed her a dry cloth when she stepped out of the water a little while later. "Everything will be according to plan. The ceremony will be beautiful, you will marry Robb and we'll have a big feast in your honor. It'll be something to tell your children about."

Nivia handed her under clothes, and then helped her lace up her bodice. All three Mason women talked around her; Dalia stayed silent. She thought about Robb. How did he feel about The King coming? Nervous or calm? She hoped calm. She needed someone who'd understand; who better than her own husband?

Finally out of her bedroom, Dalia walked into the town. The only rule her mother gave her was to stay away from the east side of the castle, Robb's territory. It was bad luck for the bride and groom to cross paths. They'll even be meeting The King separately. She felt a slight disappointment. Not because she could not see Robb…but because she could not see Jon.

Her dream returned; then she called the night before. She did not think of the wolves or her shoving a tree branch into a living thing. She thought of Jon's face when she asked him what scared him about her. He seemed reluctant to answer; like his answer might give everything away. She wished she had pressed him.

Everywhere she went, people bowed their heads muttering 'morning, m'lady' or 'congratulations, m'lady'. None of the common people would be at the real wedding, but no doubt they had heard. People all around were preparing for the ceremony and feast: A wagon full of fireworks rolled by her, as well as men bringing in large dead boars, skinned and ready for the cutting board. A procession of women carried bunches of white and red flowers from a cart full of them; she spotted a pair of actors steadily lifting a puppet stage out of a caravan, being tracked along by another pair of men lugging a large trunk in between them; a bard sat on a barrel outside the kitchen door, idly tuning his harp and his companions adjusting their flute and lute. The Masons and Starks truly went through the trouble of making this a very lavish celebration.

Walking through the crowd, she noticed two children climbing up a post. She stopped and watched. Bran Stark, Robb's younger brother, climbed up the post and onto the rooftop of the stables; and then her brother, Mika, followed. They walked along the rooftop swiftly; reaching the side of Winterfell's tallest towers. She could hear the two boys talking. Mika stood by as Bran started. He placed one hand on a foot hold, and then his foot, and lifted himself up. After Bran went a few feet up, Mika ascended the wall.

"Mika, what are you doing?" She asked.

"Morning Dalia," He said with a grin. "Bran and I are going to the top of the wall to see the King coming."

Bran peered down, and then said, "Morning, my lady."

"I don't believe your lady mother will like knowing you're climbing so high, Bran" She responded, "And Mika you know mother wouldn't like it either. Come down before you fall."

"I never fall," Bran said.

"Neither do I."

"Well, I used to tell myself I would never marry," She said, making a point. "Come down now."

"No."

That was the problem with young boys: They thought themselves indestructible. Dalia approached the pole of the stable. Scaling up things came out easy if you never looked down. She gripped her hand tightly around the square column, putting her foot on the stable gate and lifting herself up. The column stood only six feet, so by the time the boys moved halfway up the wall, Dalia already stood on the roof.

"You climb too?" Bran asked from his position.

"Anyone can climb if they're not afraid, and we Masons are never afraid. It's in our words: We Hold No Fear…Now, get back on the ground before your mother sees you."

"No!"

Dalia grunted. She looked around for a sign. She knew they wouldn't come down willingly. Then she noticed one of the kitchen maids carrying a large basket of red apples. She remembered her mother telling her about the desserts being served for the feast: Apple, berry, and blackberry tarts, pears poached in strongwine, spiced honey biscuits, apple crisps and wheels of all cheeses. Smirking, she called for the boys.

"I have a proposition for you," She told them. They stopped, "If you two come down from there, I'll take you to the kitchen and let you both have some tarts; two for each of you. I hear they are quite delicious."

Bran spoke: "Do they have blackberry?"

"Yes they do."

The boys glanced at one another. She could tell they were mulling over her deal. Naturally, they'd have the tarts, wait a few hours, and then presume their climbing. Regardless, Dalia felt better knowing they were occupied with something safe. Last thing they needed was one of the boys getting injured. Both boys slowly moved down until they landed on the roof with her.

"We accept your offer," Mika said.

"Very well then."

She guided them into the kitchens. Being honored today, people allowed her to do as she pleased. The baker gave her four tarts. She watched Mika and Bran walk away from their door stuffing their faces. She laughed to herself for a moment.

"Morning, my lady," A girl's voice said behind her.

Arya Stark stood nearby. Dalia noted the tracks of mud on her dress, and the silver helmet she held. She smiled, amused.

"Morning," She crossed her arm underneath her bosom, "Shouldn't you be with your septa practicing needlepoint? I saw your sister on the way there."

"I don't like needlepoint," Arya said, placing the helmet over her head. "I'm terrible at it."

"I see what you mean," Dalia told her, "I'm not too fond of needles either….I am guessing you enjoy swordplay more?" She nodded to the wooden sword on her belt. "Where'd you get it from?"

"I stole it from the training yard," She grinned. "I practice with it sometimes. I'm getting really good. Want to come see?"

"It would be interesting."

Arya and she began walking towards the training yard, which appeared empty since all the boys were on the east side. Arya had been the one to initiate the conversation:

"So, do you really love Robb? Or do you love Jon more?"

Dalia hesitated. People suspected her, but no one had really questioned her directly. She didn't look at Arya as she said: "I'm…fond of Robb."

"But you love Jon. I can tell. He always grows quiet when you're around, and you start acting funny when he walks into the room," She entered the yard and pulled out her sword.

"How do I act funny?" She asked, "I don't act funny at all."

She handed Dalia a wooden sword, "You start smiling more even if you don't notice. You both watch each other like hawks, but never say anything."

"We've spoken before,"

"When you're alone."

Arya lifted up her sword. Dalia assumed the girl had done this before, whereas Dalia had less practice. She only knew from watching Thorin and William dance around the yard. Ladies never participated in such interests. When Arya swung her sword, Dalia blocked the move with her own sword.

"He even saved you from those wolves," Arya said. "He loves you."

"How do you know about that?" Dalia asked.

"I heard Sansa and Antonia talking," She made another move, but Dalia blocked again. "Nivia said you two went into the godswood together and were kissing before the wolves came and attacked you."

Dalia's thrust was parried, but barely. "She said what? When was this?"

"Earlier today." The two girls clashed swords, moving about in a circle and blocking each other. "Everyone is talking about it. Some people say you were already being attacked when Jon came along; other people say you two weren't even in the woods at all."

"The things that spread around here," Dalia said to herself. "I'll be having a talk with Nivia later. She's a horrible gossiper. She makes up the most terrible lies about people." She smacked the sword from Arya's hand with a single swipe.

"So, you were in the godswood with Jon?" She picked up her sword.

"Yes, but he found me there. Nothing happened between him and me," Dalia said, moving forward first, "All he did was protect me…even though I think I did well on my own."

"You killed one?" Arya lost her focus and Dalia took advantage. The sword flew away once again.

"Yes. I planned on holding them off until Jon came, but one came too close so I had to kill it," She said.

"Wow," Arya retrieved her sword. "I've never killed anything before."

"Good, keep it so."

The two of them fought for some time. Dalia seemed better than she expected. An hour later, the elder girl decided they had enough for the day. Arya's muddy clothes needed changing before The King came. Dalia saw her to her bedchambers, and then headed towards her own. Nivia and Antonia sat by her fire, both working on their stitching; Nivia sang an old song with her heavenly voice, Antonia hummed the melody. They stopped once she entered. Nivia laughed that their mother would throttle her if she saw Dalia; Antonia rushed for a dress in her wardrobe. Right as Antonia finished lacing up her dress, their mother opened the door.

"The King has arrived; make yourselves presentable and go into the hall. We shall be meeting him and the Queen there," She then walked out.

"You'd think I was marrying King Robert instead of Robb," Dalia smirked.


	8. Chapter 8: Jon

Jon walked into the west side of the castle, his hair cropped an inch or so short and his face clean shaven. The boys were banned from the west side, but Jon did not care much. He wanted to see Dalia. He wanted to see her before he lost her. His heart weighed on him all morning. Since he rose from his bed all he thought of was Dalia. The bite on his arm still pained him; the fresh bandages wounded tightly around his forearm. He drank a small dose of milk of poppy to relieve the pain. He wished the milk would have worked on his heart as well.

He did not know whether he could handle it: Seeing Robb and Dalia say their wedding vows in front of The Heart Tree. Last night he dreamt he stood there with her, not Robb. The vision of him kissing her, holding her and telling the world he loved her only made his pain worse. Jon knew this was all a mere fantasy. He had no real chance with Dalia; a dream going nowhere. However, a feeling in his gut told him this was more than infatuation. Whenever he looked at Dalia, whenever he talked to her, Jon could not help but tense. He continuously thought of her question: "And what exactly is that?" He was glad he never told her.

He reached her bedchambers on the second floor. A recall of them striding down this hall together struck something in his again, and he shook the memory out. Running a hand through his curls, he stood in front of her door. The faint sounds of giggling and muffled conversation sounded from the other side; he knew her sisters were there. Nerves bundled down in his stomach. He rapped his knuckled on the wooden door, waiting for an answer.

"Come in," Nivia's voice said.

Jon took a deep breath, and then walked in with a smile. All three Mason girls turned around. Nivia and Antonia stood already dressed in matching red and white dresses made of silk and lace that wrapped tightly around their bodies leaving only the sleeves loose around their hands; red flowers pinned in their hair. Though, Jon only had eyes for Dalia. Standing on a stool in front of a long mirror, trails of white lace fell down to the floor, the rest of the dress a cotton white with gold linings. Her braided hair had small white flowers weaved in.

"What are you doing here?" Antonia snapped, "The boys are supposed to be on the east side."

"Oh hush Toni," Dalia said to her, "It's only Jon." Her eyes met with Jon's and she smirked, "I see at least the shears were kind to you."

He chuckled and even blushed, "I suppose they were. I'm not very fond of it." He ran a hand through his hair again; the cut would take some adjustment.

"Well, I like it," She said. She stepped down from the stool, handed Antonia the bouquet of red and white roses she had held, and then walked to Jon, "How is your arm?" She took it in her hands, cradling it gently.

"Better than last night," He answered. His bite felt hotter now with her touch; it didn't bother. It was a good kind of burn. "Maester Luwin gave me a mix of milk of poppy, so the pain is dulled for now."

He could tell she felt responsible for his injury. Jon wanted to tell her she mustn't feel guilty, yet kept the words to himself. His arm grew cold again when she let go, staring up at him once more.

"I never thanked you for saving me," She said, "If you had not been there, I would have been torn to pieces."

"There is no need to thank me, my lady," Jon told her. "I would never allow anything to harm you." He realized how he sounded and then quickly added, "Because Robb would have killed me if I did."

"Of course," She said, not sounding too convinced. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from you."

"Dalia," Antonia called her back, "We need to finish the dress." She held up a small decorative flower with a pearl in the center. "Otherwise the side won't look right."

Dalia sighed, and then returned to Jon, "I shall see you later then."

"You shall," He replied.

Suddenly, she embraced him. Her lips were only an inch away from his ear, her breath rushing over his neck with a minty scent. Goose pimples went over his skin. "My mother says dancing is expected tonight. It's customary for the bride to dance with someone from the groom's family. Promise me a dance?"

Jon hesitated. "I'd be honored, my lady."

She released him and smiled. He ran a hand nervously through his messy hair, uttered his goodbye and left. Once out into the breezy hallway, Jon exhaled as if he had been holding his breath. He wished she wouldn't do that: Being so sweet to him; flirting with him almost. Every word; every action made his fantasy seem more real. Each time she smiled at him, he felt like a small boy again. He hated it.

Jon tried pushing her from his mind. He had other things on his mind today. His father told him their Uncle Benjen was travelling towards Winterfell for the wedding. Benjen Stark the Ranger. Benjen Stark the Night's Watchman; exactly what Jon hoped for. He knew what his uncle would say when Jon asked: _"You're too young" "You have to let that arm heal" "You don't understand what you're giving up here."_ Jon never cared for any of that. At least, he didn't before. With the recent events, his mind twisted all the time. If he didn't become a Watchman, then what would he be? Just another lord's bastard? He hoped not.

He managed getting back onto the east side without being noticed. He knew his father noted his absence, but he never said anything. They already had their talk. Eddard Stark was not the kind of man who repeated himself. Jon saw Robb, dressing in his wedding clothes, guilt poisoned him. Slowly falling in love with Dalia was wrong already. If his father knew; if her sisters knew, then did Robb know? Or was he too love stricken? When asked where he had gone, he told them Maester Luwin rewrapped his arm. He suspected his father was not fooled.

All dressed in their clothes, sharply and neatly. His father led them out of the room, overlooking each of them. They both met each other's eyes for a minute.

Jon wondered what he'd think of them dancing together?


	9. Chapter 9: Robb

His palms sweated; he felt nerves running all over his body. Robb's eyes stared down the aisle, focused on a shadow between two tall trees. A streamer of white hung in the branches above the opening, while long vines of white flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Flowers of white and blood red littered the ground around them; the only thing not decorated was the Heart Tree, whose face watched the aisle with him. His father, Jon, Theon, and Bran stood behind him. They each wore black doublets lined with silver; their breeches matched as well as their boots and gloves. Robb stood out amongst them: His white doublet hemmed with black; his breeches contrasted with his dark boots, but his gloves remained black. After a visit from their barber, all the older boys were clean shaven. Robb wondered whether it was for the King or his bride.

King Robert, Queen Cersei, their children and all the rest of them sat with the crowd. The couple had only been informed that morning about the visit. Robb had not been nervous about the affair; he knew King Robert attending his wedding was an honor. The rest of the small host was bannermen, friends and smallfolk from Winterfell. The godswood filled with their hushed whispers; all waited patiently for the bride's arrival.

"You're going to be fine," He felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

Robb could only nod. He wondered whether people could see his anxiousness. He wasn't nervous about the king; the guests or the fact the joining of House Stark and House Mason laid on his and Dalia's shoulders. He was nervous about the marriage; him being a good husband and- hopefully- father one day. Dalia was beautiful, intelligent, charming. She deserved someone wonderful. Robb wanted to be that someone. Suddenly, the soothing sound of a harp caught his attention.

In the distance they all saw a fleet of horses approaching. Lord Gareth Mason, Ser Kellen Mason, Thorin and William all surrounded a woman sitting on a white horse. Dalia smiled at him. Flowers adorned the long dark braid trailing down her shoulder; her face free of make-up. Her party wore their armor with the Mason eagle on the front in sapphires. They stopped in front of the men. Gareth dismounted his own horse and helped Dalia down. A belt of golden medallions tied the middle of her white dress, leather gloves covering her hands. Everyone watched her father bring her to him, as mesmerized as Robb. He took her hand in his and they faced Maester Luwin together.

"For many years, your ancestors have stood before the Heart Tree," He told them both, "And bonded their marriages in its shadow. Today you two shall go forth and say your vows in the face of the Gods." He brought them forward and left them in view of the masses.

The pair stood in front of the Heart Tree. Red sap dripped from its eyes, watching the couple. Robb spent most of his night reciting his vows in front of his father, never stumbling once. The seclusion of his room differed from the presence of a crowd. Robb took her hands in his, as they were taught, and stared down at her. She gave him an uneasy smile.

"I, Robb Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, hereby take you, Dalia Mason, to be my wife. I shall protect you with my sword and comfort you in times of great need. Your days will forever be surrounded in happiness for I will be your sun, stars, and moon." He turned to his father, who handed him a ring, holding the Mason sapphire on it surrounded by white gems, "With this ring, I promise my heart to you and only you."

He slipped the ring on her finger. She gave him a sweet smile when their eyes met again.

"I, Dalia Mason, daughter of Lord Gareth Mason of Tower Hill, hereby take you, Robb Stark, as my husband. I shall stand beside you in troubled times and care for you if you shall ever fall ill." Her felt her hands shake in his, he grasped them comfortingly. "Your days will forever be surrounded in happiness for I will be your sun, stars and moon." Antonia gave her a silver ring with a direwolf running across a field engraved all around the band, "With this ring, I promise my heart to you and only you."

She put the ring on his finger, giving a sigh of relief. There was no hesitation next. Robb's hand cupped underneath her jaw, tilting her head upward to him, and then he kissed her. In reality, the kiss took no more than a few seconds, but to Robb, it might be years. The rest of the world dropped down around them in the small embrace. Their sighs synced together in their kiss, their hands mimicking positions while their bodies closed in. She melted into him; her warmth flowed over him like a fever. Robb's heart pumped, his mind filled with thoughts of his wife, his lips eager for more. Finally, he forced himself away from her.

They both turned back to Maester Luwin, who raised his hands towards the crowd.

"Please stand," He said. Everyone stood in unison. "In the sight of gods and men, I pronounce these two husband and wife."

They each smiled at each other. Robb offered her his arm, which she linked hers around, and they began walking. Robb's horse stood at the end of the aisle with a stable boy. He aided Dalia in mounting before following her up onto the saddle. The stable boy handed him the reins; he kicked the stirrups and the horse began strolling back towards Winterfell. He pulled her closer to him, his lips close to her ear.

"You're a Stark now," He told her, grinning with her.

"I suppose I am," She looked back around his arm. The crowd had dispersed to their wheelhouses and horses, already moving behind them. "Now they'll be pushing me into child bearing next."

Robb smirked, "I doubt we will have much trouble there."

They both laughed and then kissed. He was the happiest man in all of The Seven Kingdoms.

* * *

><p>A quilt of black night fell over Winterfell with glittering stars. The winds outside grew harsher as the day went on. Music, singing, laughter, shouting and chatter filled the wedding hall; drapes of white hung over the sides of the entrance door; the tent outside as bright as the hall filled with more guests; a mummer's marionette show played in the corner for the children.<p>

Robb sat with Dalia, watching his visitors eat the large trays lining up and down the tables: Mutton with mushrooms, boar and roasted potatoes, stuffed turkeys, loaves of bread with all kinds of cheeses, puddings, tarts, and hot pies. Both their families sat in a table below them along with the King and Queen, all enjoying the feast. Robb thought he would be nothing but nerves tonight, yet instead, he felt perfectly at ease. Perhaps the weight obligation lifted itself; leaving him as a happy married man.

Dalia's giggle made him turn his head. "What is it?" He asked amused.

"Oh nothing," She answered. "The mummers are playing 'The Bard at Acorn Hall'. They played it at Nivia's twelfth name day. It's about a highlord who comes to visit Acorn Hall with his men travelling to the capital. They meet with a bard, and the highlord demands he play a song. The singer then plays 'The Tower Maiden'. A song about a lovely maiden named Aberdeen. She had hair black as nightshade berries and eyes the color of the leaves. The song sings of her and the handsome prince who comes to her rescue from an evil king. They live happily ever after in his castle, all their children having dark hair and green eyes. _'And all were tower-kissed, with their eyes of black and their eyes of green, the beautiful children of Maiden Aberdeen." _

She smiled at him, "My grandfather told me it's about my grandmother. When they were at war with the Lannisters, she had been kidnapped and held captive in Casterly Rock. He had been the one to come rescue her along with this army."

"The Maiden Battle," Robb knew the story. Old Tytos Lannister and Fredric Warwick came at odds with each other when Fredic planned on seizing Casterly Rock for himself and becoming Warden of the West. Tytos decided to hold his daughter, Aberdeen, captive until Fredic yielded. Fredric was forced to yield after he lost the battle near Lannisport. However, Tyots still kept Aberdeen, attempting to marry her off to his son, Lord Tywin. The story goes that Tywin and Aberdeen's then-betrothed, Kellen Mason, went to war for her. The victor received Aberdeen's hand in marriage; the defeated left. Of course, Kellen won the battle, the glory, and the maiden. "Well, I can say I'm glad."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't need a sword to win you," He took her hand and kissed her knuckles gently, smiling when she blushed. His father told him he must be pleasant, so he listened. Though, the act wasn't needed. He only wanted Dalia's happiness. Robb turned back to the guests and noticed a change: Servants cleared up two of the tables and the remainders were pushed against the walls. The bard and his men ceased playing for a moment.

"Should we lead the dance?" Dalia asked him, looking at the large space and the expecting gazes from the party-goers.

"I think we should," He stood up from his seat and offered her his hand, "If you would honor me, my lady?"

They both exchanged grins when she took his hand. The couple moved onto the dance floor to much applause. The music started up again: 'The Sound of Winter' Robb remembered. He tried remembering the steps he learned. He had to lead. His left hand went on his bride's waist; her right on his shoulder, and their free hands clasped together.

She goes backward; he moved forward.

They move left together; then he steps back while she comes up front.

He skips left; she skips right. His right hand placed flatly on her left and move one time in a circle.

By this time, two other pairs had joined in: His father and mother, and Lord and Lady Mason. The dance coordinated to where the men danced with the women, which became easier once others joined. Soon enough, dancers filled the hall. He went through Sansa, Arya, his mother, two of the Queen's handmaidens, and Princess Myrcella. All the original pairs came back together at the end.

When the song ended, another song started; a free dance. Before he could dance with Dalia again, Ser Kellen arrived. From the smell of him, he already downed a cup of wine or two. Surprisingly, he seemed perfectly sober.

"Excuse me my lady," He said, leaning on his walking stick, "Would you do me the tribute of a dance? Before all this wine sees me off tonight?"

They all laughed. "I'd love to, my dear ser," She answered.

Robb pulled her to his chest as she began walking away. "Promise me a dance later?"

"Of course."

She placed a light kiss on him, and then disappeared into the crowd.


	10. Chapter 10: Dalia

The night grew darker and colder. Dalia watched her guests. She worried the cold might chase them all away, but she was mistaken. Not these people. The braziers in the corners and the warmth from the hall filled up the tent just outside. A majority of the dancers moved into the pavilion for more room. The hall could only hold so many. However, this was not a chief concern with her now.

After dancing with her grandfather, father, father-in-law, and even Bran, Dalia walked around idly. Her eyes looked all over for him, wondering where he would be or if he had even stayed at all. She had seen Jon's face at the ceremony. She caught the hidden sadness behind his dark eyes; it told her he wished he had been the groom. Dalia somewhat wished herself. Only difficulty was Robb. How could she hate him? How could she want someone else? Robb was everything she dreamed for: Tall, handsome, charming, and sweet. She supposed his kindness is what makes her guilty. He didn't deserve this. Robb was too good.

However, her heart never beat for him how it did for Jon. She recalled the other night underneath the Heart Tree. She remembered how tense he became when called him out. She wondered if he knew. So many other people figured it out, how could he not? He had to. He saved her from the wolves. She personally disbelieved his whole story of doing what any other man would do. The boy suffered a terrible injury and he never held it against her.

She found him at last. He sat alone at one of the tables in the pavilion, shoulders hunched and hands around a pint of ale. Dalia smiled widely, moving closer to him.

"Well, don't you look cheerful?" She teased, sitting beside him. "Enjoying the feast?"

"Yes," He answered, "Having a wonderful time."

She sensed the sarcasm. She scooted to him. Seeing him up close, she could see the slight drunkenness in his eyes. "What troubles you? Is it my marriage to Robb?"

He stayed silent. She saw his hands grasping his cup a bit tightly, "No. Nothing troubles me at all, my lady."

"I don't believe you. Jon…You know you can tell me anything. Have I not proven that?" She gently touched the bandages on his arm. He flinched away. Suddenly, she felt low. She had upset him in some way without meaning to; his avoidance hurt…deeply. "I didn't ask to marry Robb. They matched me with him before I met either of you."

"If you could choose," He turned suddenly, "Who would you pick? Me or him?"

Her stomach knotted at the question. If she answered 'Robb' she'd hate herself because she knows it's a lie. If she said 'you', she'd hate herself even more because she'd be confessing. Either way, Dalia lost this battle.

"That's not fair, Jon. You know I'd never be allowed with you," She replied.

"Why? Because I'm a bastard?" His tone changed entirely. The sadness before vanished, leaving only bitterness. "You're saying I'm not good enough for you now?"

"Jon that's not what I meant," She said.

"It sounds to me like you would rather lie than be honest about how you feel," Jon said resentfully. "All you have done these past few days is play with my mind. It's not fair. I know there is no hope, but you continue putting it in my head that there is."

"That was never my intention. I simply do not want to give you false hope, because the truth is harsh. I would never hurt you."

"False hope? More like making a fool out of me. Everyone knows about us, everybody talks about it. They say what an idiot I am for trailing after a girl who is too good for the likes of a bastard boy. They give me looks, as if I've already bedded you."

"That's not true, Jon-"

"-Don't lie," He snapped. "You pull me around like a puppet. You've toyed with me for too long, Dalia Mason. I am sick of it."

She felt tears sting her eyes, "What are you saying?"

Suddenly, he stood up, slamming his mug down slightly some spilling out. "I'm saying you should stay away from now on. Now before they all begin calling you 'The Whore of Winterfell'."

A tear dripped down her cheek. He was unmoved. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know full well," He stumbled some. "Go have fun loving my brother now. It was him you wanted all along. I leave for The Wall in a few days. You won't have to worry about me."

She followed him out of the tent, calling out his name over the music. She attempted concealing her tears from her guests. The bride should not cry. They finally exited the tent. A rush of freezing cold came over her, giving her goose pimples.

"Jon, please come back," She said, "I want to talk to you."

"I have no more to say," He responded. "Go back before they continue talking."

"I don't care about their gossips…" She took a deep breath, "If I could choose, I would pick you in a heartbeat. No questions asked. No second opinions. Nothing. I would have you. I want you."

He spun around, studying her weepy face for a moment. "It's a bit late for that, _my lady," _He spat out the last words, and then stormed away.

Dalia began crying. Pain never touched her this way before. Why? Because she had sinned? Because she practically lied in front of The Heart Tree? Was this a sort of punishment by the gods? She wiped the tears from her face; they still spilled regardless. In the course of three days, she had fallen in love with Jon Snow. Now he scorned her, turning his back on her. She had been so stupid.

"Ah to be in love…" A woman's voice said from the darkness, "And to have your heart broken."

Cersei Lannister, Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, emerged from the shadows. Layers of red and gold flowed around her as she walked towards Dalia. Her golden curls were fashioned into braids and made into a mound on her head, while bottom strands went over her shoulders, the southern style. Dalia thought the other girls looked ridiculous, but not Queen Cersei. She was beautiful, and rightfully so. Queens were always gorgeous.

"Your Grace," Dalia lowered her head, "Forgive me, I-"

"-No need for that, child. Today is your day, and I'm merely a guest."

The moment she came close enough, she lifted Dalia's head with a gentle touch of her hand. Dalia never knew the Queen had green eyes: A bright emerald color which made her all the more intriguing.

"A bride should not cry on her wedding day," She said. "Today is a happy occasion. If your guests were to see the bride upset, they might think she wasn't pleased with her match. You don't wish for people to think so, do you?"

"It doesn't matter now. Jon said they all talk about it anyways: Me loving him," She realized who she had said this to, and instantly regretted it, "Or they suspect at least."

"Sweetling, people will always talk whether the news is good or bad. Regardless, you cannot own up to their gossip. If you had shouted out your little confession in the pavilion that would only add fuel to their fire."

"I didn't…I didn't mean to say it out loud. The words came out of me before I could think," Dalia explained.

"You should choose your words more carefully next time; who knows who is lurking about?" She said, "I will only keep my silence because I remember being a similar situation as a girl…did you know I was originally betrothed to your father?"

"Yes, he told me when I was young. I asked him why my mother disliked you so much, so he explained how my mother was his match before my grandfather changed his mind. He wanted his son with someone of higher note from a rich family, and nobody is richer than The Lannisters. My mother was furious because she had become deeply in love with my father; she resented you from stealing him from her…since he loved you too."

"'Loved'," The Queen repeated, "Your father gained a big reputation for falling in and out of love too quickly, especially as a young man. I shall say, I loved him to some extent in return. I admired his looks, his intelligence, his charm…Girls throughout the Seven Kingdoms desired your father, which made them envious of me. You cannot deny: It is nice to be the envy of so many women."

Dalia nodded, "My sisters tell me girls back in Tower Hill are jealous of me…I can see it as well."

"And you will have more now that you married Robb Stark."

"So, you fell out of love with my father? The way he did you?" She asked.

"Not completely. In the first year of my marriage to Robert, he came by King's Landing _far_ too often," She chuckled. "It made Robert furious whenever he caught your father watching me. The stares also angered my brother."

"Ser Jamie? The Kingslayer?" Jamie Lannister was widely known for killing Aerys Targaryen, the last King of the Seven Kingdoms. He was also the Queen's twin brother.

"Yes. He never liked it when other men looked at me. I never knew why," Dalia, however, could sense The Queen knew exactly why. Yet, it was not Dalia's place to press the issue.

"Thorin always challenged my suitors…even Robb. He said I deserved only the best…'Best' meaning anyone who can best him in melee," She laughed softly. "I suppose they're just being protective."

"'Suitors'? You had more than one?" She appeared impressed.

"Yes, my father looked high and low for one: Smalljon Umber, Eddard Karstark, and Daryn Horwood, In the end, he chose Robb because he and Lord Stark are so close."

The Queen laughed, "No wonder they all looked so glum, along with your precious Jon." She stayed silent for a moment then said, "Come, let us go back inside before your husband wonders where you have gone."

Dalia did not object when the Queen linked her arm with Dalia's and escorted her back inside. A small wonder: Being led back inside by Cersei Lannister. She expected her to be smug and prideful as rumors told. She had been nothing but kind. People stood amazed when the two entered through the tent into the hall. They bowed and muttered 'Your Grace' as Cersei passed. She guided her all the way to Robb.

Robb stood with his Uncle Benjen laughing over cups of wine. He was a stark contrast to Jon at the moment. She felt better when he spotted her.

"It seems you have lost your wife, Lord Stark," Cersei told him, releasing Dalia.

"And I am glad you found her, your grace."

Cersei said nothing. She simply smiled at Dalia and returned to her seat at the table. She noticed the Queen began talking with her father, whom grinned widely; her mother nowhere nearby. She wondered- for a time- if he still loved her. Dalia remembered how tense he began when someone mentioned her name or when she entered a room. Perhaps their history caused this; Dalia did not know.

Robb brought her back with a grasp of her hands. "You've been crying," He said, bringing her close and wiping a thumb over her tear stains. She realized she still had tears on her face, and that make-up lightly smeared her sleeve. "What has upset you?"

"Oh nothing," She said, "Nothing for you to worry about."

Jon's voice rung in her head for the rest of the feast: His words, his disdain, his anger all remained inside her. Tears threatened her again. The small spark between them died before it had a chance to flame. She struggled with forgetting the whole thing, but could not push away the image of that resentment in his eyes. She wanted to find him; she wanted to explain what she meant and tell him she loved him.

"Why don't we both retire to our room?" Robb said to her as they danced. "I'm a bit tired, aren't you?" He nuzzled her neck before placing a kiss on the bit of revealed skin.

"Darling, we cannot leave our guests here-"She began to say, trying to smile.

"-They'll be fine without us. I want you now. Alone."

She shuddered when his hands rubbed up and down her back, his lips leaving kisses on her neck. They both met at her lips; the first few were brief until they grew eager for more. Soon enough, Dalia completely forgot about Jon; even when Robb took her back to their bedroom. She forgot about his resentment as Robb undid her dress and bodice; she couldn't recall the last words he said while Robb laid her on his bed, both of them naked as their name day under his covers. All she saw was Robb.

But at the end, when she felt that ache between her legs and Robb wrapped his arm around her, she remembered Jon again.

She hated herself.


	11. Chapter 11: Nivia

Disclaimer: Singing lyrics are not mine. They belong to Mel Brooks (lyrics), Hummie Man (music) and Debbie James (Singer). The song is from the movie Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

* * *

><p>'<em>Where is the one that I love most of all? When will I hear him call Marian…Marian? I cannot wait 'till he sets my heart free! Oh! When will I know him? When will I see him? When will I hear him say 'Marian, my love'?'<em>

The warm water soothed her skin so easily; the murky mist covered everything from her shoulders down. Stray strands of hair clung onto her neck, but otherwise she pinned up the rest. She should have been out ages ago, but she couldn't resist. The water felt too good. The morning sun glared into the bathroom; thankfully the light turned away from the tub. Her voice sung through the room and off the stone walls. She normally sang to herself when she was alone. Toni and Dal get annoyed; her mother could only tolerate her voice for so long. She didn't know why. People all over told her she sung beautifully. She personally adored her singing. Everyone did.

'_The Patient Princess' _was one of favorite Nivia's songs. The song was about a maiden named Marian, who calls out for her prince. Of course, the prince dies in battle. Her grandfather told her Marian threw herself from a tower when the news of her prince's demise reaches her. Her uncle said she died waiting for him. Her mother ended the song with the prince returning from battle. Nivia sang regardless.

"My lady?"

Water splashed around her as she jumped. Turning around she spotted Theon by the door. He wore his usual fine clothing of leathers and wool. His light ringlets were beginning to grow back to their normal length and she could see the shadow of a beard. His bright blues glimmered even in the darkness shadowing the doorway. She sunk into the water up to her neck; this did nothing however. Theon's eyes skimmed down, and then looked to her face. He stood with his hands behind his back and his usual smirk.

She smiled at him, "Lord Greyjoy, you shouldn't barge in while a lady is bathing."

He stepped forward. "Forgive me, my lady. I heard you singing and couldn't resist. You have a lovely voice. That was The Patient Princess, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was. It's one of my favorites."

"With which ending?" He came closer to the tub, "The one where she flings herself off the tower or when she dies alone?"

"I prefer the happier one: Where her prince returns and they marry. I suppose I just love happy endings."

"A lot of women do…"

She hesitated, then said: "You should go before my mother finds you here," She scooted to the edge of the tub, resting against it, "I don't think she'd appreciate you watching me."

"Oh I think she would," He knelt down on one knee beside the tub, "If I told her I was merely guarding over her precious Nivia."

She laughed, "Guarding? Is that what you call it?"

"Then what do you call it?"

"I call it a naughty boy peeking at a young maiden," She teased.

"Naughty boy? What ever do you mean by it, my lady?" He said in mock innocence.

"Your reputation amongst the girls has preceded you. I know all about your trips to the pleasure houses," She leaned into him, "And about that red head that visits your bed chambers."

He hid his surprise well, "Have you now?"

She nodded, "You see, that's the thing about servants: They talk too much...You should be a little more discrete in whom you bring into your bed."

"Well, if I had you," He brushed a damp strand from her face, "I wouldn't need a whore warming my bed at night."

She giggled, "Unfortunately for you, I can't be bought so easily. I'm a highborn lady; not a whore."

Theon said nothing. He studied her face. His eyes weren't drowning in love or admiration like Jons did with Dalia. This gaze was full of lust and longing. She knew he wanted her. She could tell by the looks he had given her. He never approached her, since breaking the barrier of other admirers would have been difficult. So he stayed away; he only watched her from the top of his cup and occasionally while she danced with Prince Jofferey, a man from the kingsguard and one of the Stark stable boys. The flash of jealousy in them became clear when the guard- his name might have been Kingston- stole her away. She thought the whole act was sweet.

"All you had to do was come up to me," Nivia said.

"Pardon?"

"At the feast, I could tell you wanted me. You made it far too obvious; they way you stared at me," She drew as close as the tub would allow, "Your eyes traveling down my body, practically undressing me with your eyes."

"So were many others. Getting you alone is not so easy; they would've noticed you had gone if I managed it…like I had the other night…Before you father interrupted…"

She remembered vividly. She recalled the building warmth between them when he pressed himself against her; she shuddered when she thought of his hands touching her breasts and slowly feeling her. His lips massaging her skin, his teeth gently biting and his tongue grazing over all came back to her. Everything about the Greyjoys seemed true: They were good love makers. Sadly, Nivia did not see the full potential. Her father, his stern voice, and his furious glare sent Theon nearly running out the door. Her father could be mean when he wanted.

Nivia stood up in front of him. The chilly air clung onto her naked skin, the warm water freezing her up on the spot. Unlike Toni or Dalia, she felt no embarrassment. She stepped out of the tub beside him while he leveled up to her. Theon's eyes latched onto her body; his hands found her hips. She trembled under his touch. Most men would have overlooked this, but Theon hadn't and he let her know.

"My father's out hunting with The King…My mother's off with Lady Stark and my sisters…" Her hand played idly around with the strings of his breeches, "And I get bored awfully easy…"

"Perhaps I can remedy that."

In a swift motion, he lifted her up and pushed her against the wall. Her fingers undid his breeches quickly while he grabbed and squeezed her. Their embrace was not romantic. Their kisses were not passionate. His thrusts were not gentle and her moans were not quiet.

And she felt no shame.

* * *

><p>As Nivia predicted, in a few hours everyone seemed to know about her and Theon…everyone except her father. If Nivia heard correctly, one of the outside guards jested about it to a friend, whom then told the story to a servant girl who began spreading the rest around. Nivia did not worry. None of them would actually tell Lord Gareth Theon Greyjoy fucked his daughter. The man was named 'The Brute of Tower Hill' for a reason.<p>

However, this did not stop her sisters.

"So, it's true then? You and Theon?" Dalia asked.

The three of them sat beside a fire after supper. Antonia immersed herself in a book from Maester Luwin's library and blocked out all conversation. Dalia drank wine with Nivia, both a bit closer together. From the look of curiosity, Nivia saw her sisters were not surprised. A part of her wished they could keep talking about Robb. Nivia had been dying for details, yet the other insisted on talking about Theon.

"Yes, it's true," Nivia answered. She tapped her fingers on her wine cup as she stared into the fire. "He was much better than I thought he'd be; most noble boys aren't very good the first time. Then again, I wasn't his first."

"And he wasn't your first either," Dalia smirked. "Father's going to be furious when he finds out. We all better hope Lord Stark has the sense to send him back to The Iron Isles. I can see the axe now…"

Nivia slapped her arm, "Father's not _that_ bad. He won't kill Theon."

"Just severely injure him." The two of them laughed. Once they settled, Dalia spoke, "What will happen if you two end up matched?"

"What?" The question caught her off guard.

"I mean," Dalia leaned back in her seat, "You're both highborn people; our mother has something of a history with Balon Greyjoy; though since he's Ned's ward, I think he holds the right to match Theon…Anyways, Mother already knows, so surely she'll find some way."

"Why would they want to match us? Theon and I are nothing alike."

"What if you end up pregnant? What if it's his? You know Father won't let a bastard ruin the Mason name. He'd have you two married in a fortnight."

Nivia thought on it. She never liked marriage. The commitment seemed so binding; solid. The minute you take your vows and slip the rings, you're forever chained to one person. Nivia never saw herself with anyone, let alone Theon. She enjoyed being on her own. Being a lady meant you were supposed to marry and then breed. Only way out was joining The Silent Sisters and going celibate or renounce your title and inheritance. Nivia did not see herself there either.

"I don't think they would," Nivia said. "His father rebelled against Robert and lost…Father would never give me away to the son of a traitor."

"He would if Theon spilled a baby in you…I'd be waiting for my moon's blood very eagerly if I were you."

Nivia barely spoke the rest of the night. She listened as Dalia went on about Robb and perked some when she mentioned Jon. Her mind flew back to the bath. What if…? No. It can't. It will never happen. She'd get rid of the thing. Nivia didn't hate Theon, but she wouldn't marry him.

She hated marriage…


	12. Chapter 12: Jon

_'You don't know what you'll be missing, Jon. You have it good here.'_

Did he really? Jon mulled over his uncle's warning. He walked around the castle, basking in the loneliness of the early morning. The winds blew softly today; barely cold. His uncle told him days on The Wall were harder and colder. Jon could take it. He was a man now. Men did not fear anything. He tried proving that to Uncle Benjen, but all he received were warnings. To Jon, nobody believed he was tough enough for The Night's Watch. He was a good swordsman and a decent marksman. Surely, he'd make a great ranger like his uncle. Then he would have some use. There he can be Jon Snow, a Ranger of The Night's Watch; not Jon Snow, Ned Stark's Bastard. Here in Winterfell, he had no real purpose. If he went through with this, that was all he would be. He wasn't an heir, he wasn't a nobleman, and he wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow; a baseborn son of a lord's infidelity.

He spent last night packing his things for tomorrow's ride to The Wall. Jon owned few things, so the packing did not take long. He doubted he'd need a lot for where he was headed. Jon had no trouble packing anything, except one. When he stood there in front of the trunk, his hand on the leather lid with his eyes gazing down into the pile of clothes, he hesitated. Something kept him from closing the trunk. A voice inside him said he should stay; another told him to go.

Then he remembered the wedding feast. He gulped down two pints of ale before Dalia came along. She looked stunning. Her radiance amplified a hundred fold when he watched her walk down the aisle. The world seemed so much more beautiful around her. The smile on her face never faded…until he snapped on her. Jon hadn't been himself when he spoke. Yes, everything he said was true. He was not wrong for telling her. Any other man would agree with him. However, if he was right…why did he feel so guilty?

Oh yes, because even when she said she wanted him and only him, he walked away from her. He never looked back. He couldn't. His sobriety returned at the wrong time. Jon could not get the sound of her crying out of his head; the sight of her teary eyes and blotchy face. He broke her heart. In a way, he should be glad because that meant nothing held him down. He didn't have to worry about a simple touch leading into kissing or love making. Jon avoided her touch for this reason alone.

Though, his heart died thinking of _not_ being around her.

He climbed a set up stairs to the second floor. Servants started bustling around the second floor with buckets of water for baths or on their way to the kitchens. Hopefully his father did not have official company. Jon thought long and hard about his decision. Perhaps being a Ranger was not meant for him.

"Lord Stark?"

Ned Stark sat at his desk; a feathered quill in his hand scribbled across the page. He looked up when Jon walked in. Immediately, Jon's nerves bundled in his stomach. He knew his father would question him. He knew he'd catch on. He walked further into the room and closed the door behind him. Last thing he wanted was listening ears.

"Jon," He said, "What brings you here so early? I thought you were out in the practice yard with Robb and Theon."

"I wanted to speak with you privately," Jon replied.

He could tell Ned saw through him. He laid down his quill and stared at him. "Of what?"

"I…I'm not…I'm not completely sure if I want to go to The Wall with Uncle Benjen…"

"You've always want to go; to be a ranger." He seemed confused.

"I know, but I'm having second thoughts of it. What if I don't make it to ranger?" He sat down on a chair in front of the desk, "What if I can't make it there?"

"You're a strong boy, Jon. You always have been. You're a great swordsman and you're smart. You'll go much farther on The Wall than you will here."

"Still…"

"What will you do if not being a ranger?"

He took a breath, "Maybe become a master-at-arms…when Ser Rodrick retires. Like you said, I'm a great swordsman and a rider. I can teach Robb's children when they get older, and maybe Bran's after his. They'd learn a lot from me. You know they would."

Ned thought it over, "Have you thought this through? Are you sure this is what you want or is there something keeping you here?"

The two men locked on each other. Jon felt invisible; his father saw right through him. The man knew what ran through his head; being a simple master-at-arms was not for him. Jon had more potential. He'd serve a better purpose on The Wall, protecting the realm. He tore his eyes away and looked out the window. He had a perfect view of the courtyard from there. Ned could watch over all of Winterfell from his solar. Jon latched on someone. He did not see the servants going from place to place; he barely noticed the farmers herding their livestock into their pens; the blacksmiths pounding on hot steel or the kennelmaster feeding the dogs. The one thing his eyes saw was the girl walking along with Robb. She had her slender arm linked with his; the two of them laughed and stopped in place. He watched as they drew closer; their lips came together perfectly.

Why did he torture himself so much?

"Yes, this is what I want," He said, still feeling his father surveying him.

"Jon…Do not tell me this is because of her. You do remember what I told you?"

"I do." '_And I don't care'_

"Fine. If this is what you want, I will speak to Ser Roderick. Perhaps he will take you on as his squire, and when you get older you can be knighted one day. Uncle Benjen will be disappointed, but your happiness is what matters. He'll understand."

They stood up together and both shook hands. "If you ever change your mind, you talk to me."

"Of course, Father."

Jon walked out of the solar and back into the breezy corridor. He rested against the stone wall. Nobody paid him any mind while his heart erupted. He felt everything move slowly. Why did he torture himself so much? Did he enjoy seeing Dalia from afar and wanting her more than anything? Did he like giving up his dream for a woman who will never be his? Maybe. Perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind he pictured Robb riding away from home. They can spend every night in each other's arms; they'd kiss and laugh together; they'd take rides in the woods together until they were alone. He wished all that were real. He wished he hadn't been born a bastard; be Ned Stark's true son.

Now he'd be a master-at-arms, admiring Dalia from a distance. He needed to think.

He walked towards the practice yard. He hoped Robb and Dalia would never come his way, but-

"Jon!"

Robb came unaccompanied. Jon guessed Dalia walked off elsewhere which he was glad for; he didn't think he could ever look her in the eyes. His half-brother grinned broadly at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Going to the training yard?" Robb asked.

"Just need to clear my head. I had a bit too much drink last night," He said.

"I heard."

"You did?"

They entered the yard together. Robb grabbed two practice swords, which they both idly handled for a while. Considering Bran's absence today, they were allowed real steel. The balance felt right in Jon's hand, easy to wield with one hand.

"Dalia mentioned it to me," Robb answered.

The grip he had on his sword hilt tightened. Jon knew Dalia was upset, but enough to tell Robb? Jon gathered up everything he planned on saying when this moment came. Everyone in Winterfell speculated about Jon and Dalia; surely Robb heard the rumors. The confrontation was bound to happen. He imagined Robb sticking him for wanting to lay with his wife or beating the hell out of his for thinking about her. Maybe he heard even worse rumors and played on those instead. Facing Robb, he waited for the attack.

"Wha…What did she say?" He asked.

"Nothing serious. We didn't get much time together until after the feast, so we just told each other stories," Jon could see him drift off a little, "She's beautiful, Jon. Not just on the outside either. We stayed up most of the night; we talked about the feast, our wedding, our families, and everything else. I thought the night would never end."

Robb lived the night Jon envisioned. Envy boiled inside him. The both of them began clashing steel on steel. Jon tried holding back his anger. As much as he hated him right now, he didn't want his brother knowing. In the end, Robb was innocent. He hadn't asked for Dalia, they gave her to him. Yes, the girl made him happy…Jon just wished she could make him happy.


	13. Chapter 13: Dalia

Her heart disappeared; her ability of coping was failing. The wedding feast ran through her head constantly. She thought of it while Robb slept soundlessly beside her after they made love; when she broke her fast with her family; when she listened to Antonia drone on about old fables or Nivia sing. No matter her task, Jon always returned. She wished she never approached him. She wished she left him well alone. They both knew there had been no chance. She was Robb's. She wore his ring, had his name, slept in his bed, and eventually will give him healthy sons and daughters. She could never have any of this with Jon, unless by some miracle Jon had his bastardry removed and he could be titled a lord or she and him ran away together. Sadly, these were only dreams. The Queen even said so.

"Does something trouble you, my love?"

Robb's voice broke into her head. She suddenly became aware of the log she sat on in the forest; her chestnut horse drinking from a small stream. The silence of the wood gave her peace, so she came here. Robb moved through the trees towards her. He wore his usual fox fur cloak over his shoulders; his tunic of boiled leather, cloth long-sleeved shirt, breeches and boots. Any other woman would admire the way the winds blew his auburn curls or how his bright eyes looked in the summer light. His handsome features carried worry in them. She knew her sadness hurt him. She did not want him blaming himself.

"I'm alright," She lied.

He sat alongside her, "No, you're not. I can see something bothers you. What is it? Have I done upset you?"

Her guilt sunk further. "No. You've done nothing…It's me."

He turned her chin so their eyes met. "Please tell me. I'm your husband now." He pressed his lips on hers, "Please tell me what bothers you. I'll do all I can to ensure your happiness again."

His love and care made everything worse. Dalia needed a lie. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't tell him the truth. "I haven't given you a child yet…"

He chuckled, "We only just married. You're not expected to right-"

"-But what if I never do? What if I never birth a son for you? Everyone will hate me for it. I know they will." Jon would be happy she supposed. A bouncing baby boy would be their seal of marriage.

She stared down into her lap; he knelt in front of her. "No one will hate you. There a hundreds of women who can't bear children, but you will."

"How do you know?"

"Because the gods favor you far too much." When she gave him a questioning look, he continued: "You're intelligent, caring, sweet, gentle, and no doubt incredibly beautiful. They've blessed you with the gift of making my heart pound against my chest and wishing I could be with you every moment of the day."

She smiled when he kissed her. Yet, the moment their lips met she thought of Jon. She thought of how his might taste and feel their softness on hers. She pictured them here together; they'd kiss, talk, and be in each other's arms. They'd ride around aimlessly for hours; then return home and make love in front of the fireplace over and over again.

"I love you, Dalia," She almost heard Jon's voice laced with Robb's.

"I love you too, Robb."

A sick feeling came down her throat as she said these words. She felt guilty almost lying to him. He was good to her; she betrayed him. Dalia did stay away from Jon, which was no easy charge. She supposed it was for the best. If she avoided him, there was a less chance of giving into those passions. The passion of his bare skin brushing hers; his lips kissing every inch of her; his hands grasping and squeezing; the feeling of him enter her. Dalia wanted that more than anything; she wanted closeness. Robb was wonderful too, but she saw Jon being better. She pictured his love amplifying every little caress.

"So, please don't be so sad," He cupped her cheek as he pecked her lips, "I don't like seeing you this way."

She forced a convincing smile, which he returned. "Come with me, there's something I want you to see."

They both mounted their horses and she followed him through the woods. They did not go far; a little more east than she would've liked. Finally, they both came to a stop near a clearing of trees. In the center a large, wide lake lay. The river flowing through the north started here and went far west. Though, she never saw the lake. The calm surface resembled a long sheet of glass, a dark murky color. The tree branches did not even sway here; no wind blew. Things here were perfect; consoling. Dalia gazed around as she dismounted her horse.

"It's beautiful," Dalia said, edging towards the lake and sitting on the soft ground, "I never knew this was here. I must have passed by it thousands of times."

"Not many know about it, since no one travels up this way." He tied their horses to the trees and joined her. "I found it one day when I hunted with my father and Theon. He said smallfolk in the villages sometimes fish here when the lakes up north freeze. I thought I should show it to you."

"I like it…its lovely," She grinned. For a moment, she wondered if Jon knew this place. "Do you always come here?"

"Not really…I wish I could though. It's better now that I have you with me."

He brought her close to him and kissed her. He deepened the longer they stayed attached. Soon, he lay between her thighs as her hands went into his hair. Being in his warmth reminded of the night Jon protected her from the wolves. As Robb trailed her neck, she remembered Jon drawing close; she wanted him to kiss her; just once before she married Robb. But he never did.

She giggled, "You're a terrible man, Robb Stark."

He grinned, looking up her from between the lacings of her dress, "And why is that?"

"You brought me up here so you could have your way with me," She said, briefly kissing him. "Showing me a lake, indeed."

"Well, showing you was only half my intention," He replied. She felt him undoing his breeches. "The other half was getting between your warm thighs and having you all to myself."

Her cheeks grew warm before Robb began truly making love to her. She did love Robb. Yet, Jon came to mind. She died for him. She wanted him for herself; she wanted him by her side always. When he was away, she felt alone. She no longer wanted loneliness.

When they finished, he rested with her for a while. He still kissed her, talking with her as they had the other night. Then he asked her:

"Why did you walk in with The Queen at the feast? Why was she so nice to you?" He didn't sound scornful; only curious.

"I…I don't know. I walked out for a bit of fresh air, and she must have followed me. She seems a true queen to me. She's beautiful, generous, and wise. She consoled me when I started worrying about our marriage; that was what upset me that night."

"You worry too much, my sweet," He said, nuzzling her nose with his. "We're going to be fine. I promise."

She gave him another grin. Soon after, the two of them traveled back to Winterfell. Maester Luwin came forward from his tower, stopping in front of them as they slid off their horses. He told Robb his father craved a word with him. Robb planted a kiss on her cheek, and then followed the maester. Dalia led her horse into the stable, fed it some grain before walking away. She figured her sisters would be waiting for her; they know she left alone, yet returned with Robb. With any luck, they won't ask.

"You two seem happy together."

Queen Cersei developed bad habit of sneaking up on people. She strolled over to Dalia, her layered pink and light pink dress trimmed with gold flowing around her and a long gold necklace wrapped twice about her neck and fell to her breasts; her waist-length golden hair loosely curtaining her face. Dalia noticed her features better in the light: Her high cheekbones, her narrow nose, long lashes and glossy lips. She bowed her head.

"Your Grace," She said, "And yes, we are."

"I'm glad for you," She knew the Queen couldn't be fooled.

"I hope everything is to your liking here in Winterfell, Your Grace," Dalia said. "I can imagine this place is nothing like King's Landing."

"I'll admit King's Landing is much sunnier and more pleasant, but your home has its little charms. Your godswood, for one. I find the place quiet peaceful in trouble times, though my family's always honored The Seven," She fell in step with Dalia. "You should come to King's Landing some day. I think you'd like it there: You can see the sun rise and set over the horizon from the guest rooms, we have our own godswood there, handmaidens there to serve your every wish."

"That sounds lovely and very generous of you, your Grace, but I have everything I need here: my husband, my family, and my friends."

Cersei smirked, "And Jon Snow."

Dalia suddenly frowned. "He's going to The Wall. They ride in the morrow."

"From what I understand," She started, "He's decided not to go." When Dalia turned her head quickly, she continued, "From what Robert mentioned, Lord Stark told him Jon would be staying on as a future master-at-arms. He said he thought the decision a bit queer, since he always wanted to be a brother. They suspect a certain newlywed had some part in it."

Jon staying. Had the gods answered her prayers then? Would she be allowed to gaze upon him every day and the knowing he stood near? She thought of him training her own sons one day. She thought about how he swung his sword so effortlessly; how he and his blade moved as one in perfect harmony. How he dodged and blocked with ease. Jon deserved knighthood more than master-at-arms. She wondered why he gave up his dream for her. He planned on going to The Wall. He wanted to be a Ranger like his uncle. She felt slightly responsible for what his decision.

"I…I…I never told him to stay-"

Cersei chuckled, "I know, darling. Jon must have some motive for staying, so he changed his mind for you. Robert didn't blame him. He said Mason women are worth staying around for."

"He did?"

She nodded, "Then again, Robert finds most women attractive. He's not wrong with you, however. Mason women are known for being exceptionally beautiful."

"Oh, you both honor me, but I don't see myself so. Nivia is the prettiest of the three of us. I'm the average one," She replied.

"And apparently also they're very modest," She grinned. "There's nothing wrong with being aware of your beauty."

"Not modesty, Your Grace, just honesty. We Masons are not what people expect. Nivia's almost a whore and Antonia sticks her nose in books all the time. My father's called 'The Brute of Tower Hill' and my mother is mainly concerned with marrying us all off before we grow too old. My grandfather's condition weakens him more and more each day, yet he still moves around as if he's a young knight again."

"And you, Dalia? What is it about you that eyes never read?"

"I'm not sure. I'd say I'm the normal one in this family."

"I say the same for mine."

The two of them laughed together. Dalia sensed something different in the Queen. In front of court or at formal occasions, she sat up right, appeared regal and important, and barely spoke. Here, she expressed kindness and friendliness, even acting a bit as a counselor. Her own mother never gave too much time to Dalia; only in times of meaning. At home, people treated her differently than they did her sisters. They respected her, though she spotted otherwise.

She spent the rest of her day in The Queen's company. She supposed this was due to her handmaidens being simple young girls; girls servants from birth. Dalia imagined the dull company. They discussed their families, exchanged stories from childhood, and laughed as if they had known each other for years.

The attention was nice.


	14. Chapter 14: Robb

'_I 'eard he gave it to her good in the godswood that night.'_

'_You're kidding!'_

"_Nah, I'm not. The baker told me he was going 'bout his business, you know prayin' and whatnot, when he 'eard a rustlin' in the bushes. He peeped through the leaves and saw that Snow boy plowin' into that girl like she was a rag doll!'_

'_I always thought it was after the feast when she walked off. Did ya see that? I did. I bet ya three gold dragons he shagged 'er right here in the stables.'_

'_You ain't got no three gold!'_

'_If I did, I'd bet on it.'_

Robb could not stand them talking. He quickly passed by the stables as if he were deaf. Ever since Dalia arrived, people talked. Robb heard all kinds of stories about Jon and Dalia. Some of them only simple things, such as them kissing chastely in the forest or groping each other at night in the corridors. Others told more interesting tales like Dalia taking Jon into their bed or Jon flipping Dalia around and having his way with her. Robb chose not believing the rumors, because they were just that: Rumors. He knew Jon. Jon never touched a girl before, and by no means would. Hell, the time he took Jon to the brothel, Ros told him once he saw her naked, he left. Jon feared getting a girl pregnant. He told Robb so that night. Jon was a bastard, so he knew the treatment bastards received. It wasn't the proper life for a child.

He knew the sex stories were untrue at least. Dalia was a maiden when he bedded her; unlearned in sex. Clueless, she lay on their bed and told him to 'go ahead'. Robb took pity on her. He started out gently their first time. Yet, the second time he grew a little more eager. He eventually taught her other things, and she loved it.

If all this were true, then why did he get the notion he missed something?

He found his father in his solar, looking out the window onto Winterfell. Robb stood by the doorway and knocked on the frame. He peered over his shoulder and then faced him.

"You asked to see me, father?" Robb asked, coming into the room.

"I did. There are things that need discussing."

Robb walked over to where he stood. He hoped inside this wasn't about Dalia. His father was much older and wiser. Unlike Robb, Ned Stark wouldn't go on plain rumors. He would've find out before anyone else…because he'd know.

"I've decided to go to the capital with the King." He began.

"So you're going to be Hand of the King now?"

"Yes. Robert needs someone at court he could trust, and he chose me. I thought for a moment he would've chosen Gareth, since he tends to be more political."

"Why didn't he?"

"Gareth Mason isn't well known for his softness. Hell, I remember the days when we were on the battlefield and I'd see him swinging his axe and cutting men down like trees. Robert needs someone who can keep a straight head when things get tough. Gareth isn't good under pressure, and if he's ever betrayed or tricked well…I feel bad for the person who did it." He smirked some at this, "I'm surprised his sons aren't the same."

"Thorin is," Robb said. "He bested me, Theon and Jon half a dozen times. He'd be a knight soon if he ever joined up."

"Gareth won't let him. He says knights are nothing but a bunch of backstabbing traitors."

"Because of the Kingslayer?"

"Jamie Lannister did what he had to. He and Aerys were the only men in the room, and he finishing the job made sense. Gareth never saw it that way."

Robb remained silent. "What are your plans for Winterfell? Are we all going to King's Landing?"

"No. I'm taking only Arya and Sansa. You'll be staying here and watching over your mother and brothers." He turned to him, "When I leave, Winterfell goes into your hands. You'll be Lord until I return."

"You…You trust me with something like that?" Robb wasn't prepared for that sort of responsibility. His father seemed more built for such importance.

"I do. You're a smart boy, Robb; you have a lot of honor and strength. When hard decisions come, you'll know what to do. You'll have your mother, Maester Luwin and Jon to assist you if need be."

"Wait…Jon? Our Jon? I thought…I thought he was going to The Wall with Uncle Benjen."

"He changed his mind. He came to me this morning asking if he could be our master-at-arms when Ser Roderick retires."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him 'yes'. Why should I refuse him? Jon has a lot he can teach your future sons. He's an excellent swordsman; he's decent with a bow and arrow. He can teach them about riding a proper horse and hunting-"

"I can teach them that myself," Robb said sternly. "They'll be my sons. Not his."

"When you're Lord of Winterfell, your duties take up your time. Remember when I only watched you from above the practice yard? I had Ser Roderick teaching you instead of me? There are many appointments and problems that need fixing. You'll be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. People will look to you for guidance. You'll be lucky if you even have moments with your children."

Robb tried holding back what he really wanted to say: _'But that would mean he'll be around Dalia. He'll have an easier time taking her from me…if rumors are true.'_

"What made Jon change his mind? He always wanted a place on the Wall; be a brother of the Night's Watch and don the black." He asked cautiously. His stomach churned for the answer.

"I'm not sure. He told me he thought he wasn't ready for The Wall. Perhaps when he is old enough and more experienced he will go, but for now he'll be staying home with us," He said, leaning on the window pane. "But Gareth and I have other suspicions."

"What suspicions?" Robb thought he'd be sick. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew his father called him for this. He tightened his fists behind his back; he strives hiding his anticipation.

"That he's staying because of Dalia."

"Why would he-"

"-Don't act a fool, Robb. Surely you've heard the rumors about the two of them? About what really happened in the gods-"

"-She told me nothing happened. She told me the wolves tried attacking them and Jon no more than protected her. They were simply talking when the wolves came." Robb tried convincing himself more than his father. Dalia told the truth; she would never lie…would she?

"I've seen how they are around each other. He tenses when she's near, and constantly watches her. He loses focus when she enters the room. He drank heavily at the feast, and could barely hold back the frown from when he watched you and Dalia. Someone told me she had been crying after he left."

Robb turned his back on him. He wouldn't hear anymore. These were lies, all lies. Dalia loved him. He saw it in her eyes. Jon was his brother; he would never put his hands on Dalia in any way.

"They're lying," Robb said, "Dalia cried because she thought she couldn't give me children. The pressure was too much for-"

"-You saw how he acted when she arrived. They could barely-"

"-Why are you telling me this?"

"-Because I think you should know. Jon needs watching from now on. I completely trust your brother, but a man can only be tempted for so long. He'll eventually give in and she will-"

"-No she won't!-"

"-Yes she will," His father said firmly. "Dalia is fond of you…but she's fonder of Jon. I suggest you only keep an eye on them."

Robb excused himself and left. He stormed towards the practice yard. Thoughts and images of Jon and Dalia in bed together angered him. He couldn't bear the thought of Dalia loving someone else…wanting someone else. Robb fell in love with Dalia the moment they spoke at the feast. He had noticed she seemed distracted…she had been looking at Jon.

"Jon!"

The other man clashed swords with Theon. They danced around one another, spinning and blocking. They occasionally smacked each other with the flat ends or hilts, leaving bruises no doubt. At the call of his name, he whipped his head around. He saw how angry Robb appeared, and then backed a few steps.

"Is it true?" He pushed him slightly.

"Is what true?" Jon said bemused.

"You and Dalia! Are they true? Have you been fucking my wife behind my back?" He shoved him again.

"No! I'd never do that! You know I wouldn't!"

"Then why are you two always looking at each other? Sharing glances across rooms or whenever you cross paths? Why does she always smile when she sees you? Huh?"

"I don't know!"

Theon held Robb back. More visions of Jon in between Dalia's legs made his blood boil. He understood now. Seeing the fear in Jon's eyes, he saw it. He spotted the small guilt he concealed. Either they have or Jon dreamed.

"Robb…" Jon said carefully, "You know I'd never touch Dalia. Why would I? She's your wife. You're my brother. I would never betray you. Dalia and I only share friendship; that's all."

"Then why have you suddenly decided to stay? Why not leave? There's nothing for you here, Jon and you know it! You'd be suited as a ranger instead of a master-at-arms. Ser Roderick won't be retiring any time soon. What do you plan on doing until then? Loitering around my wife's doorstep? Watching her from afar? Being close to her? What do you plan to do, Jon? What do you plan on doing?"

"I don't know!" Jon grew upset himself. "You're accusing me of something that hasn't happened and never will happen! Dalia loves you! Why would she love me? Why would she pick a bastard over a lord? She'd be a fool then!"

Rage still bubbled inside him. "Have you ever been with her? Have you ever touched her?"

"Of course not…Robb, she loves you. She really loves you. I don't love her. I've never thought of loving her." He ran a hand through his hair nervously.

He knew this was a lie. Jon always did that when he lied. His hands clenched into fists. He could pummel him right now. Instead he said: "Then I want you gone. Go to The Wall tomorrow, and never come back. If you don't love Dalia, then you don't need to be around her. You'll go farther as a ranger than a master-at-arms."

Robb wrenched himself from Theon's grip. He charged out of the practice yard in the direction his bedchambers. He needed time for thinking. He needed her. He needed proof and reassurance.

She had been sitting by the fire when he entered; The Queen in the opposite chair. The laughter among them stopped when he entered. She grinned.

"Your Grace," He addressed the Queen as was fashion.

"Robb, I thought you were with your father," Dalia said surprised.

"I only just came back. Dalia, I'd have words with you."

"I suppose that is my cue to leave," The Queen said, standing. She felt the pressure between the couple. "It was wonderful spending time with you, Dalia. You truly are a delight."

Dalia rose from her chair, "The same to you, Your Grace."

The Queen let herself out, and the two of them were alone. Dalia began pouring a new cup of wine for Robb. As she did, she noticed his face. "Does something bother you, my love?"

"In fact, yes there _is_ something that bothers me," He edged closer to her. "You and Jon."

She accidentally knocked over the cup of wine, and the red liquid spilled everywhere. She tried wiping it with a cloth, "What of me and Jon?"

"Are they true? Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?" She chuckled.

"Don't take me for a fool, Dalia. I know something happened between the both of you. You haven't exactly been discrete," He burned his eyes into her back. "I tried not believing the rumors. I tried telling myself it was all in my imagination, and that they were false. I kept thinking about how much you loved me and how Jon was my brother."

"What exactly have you heard?" She came round and stared at him.

"All kinds of things. You two making love in the woods, in the stables, _in our bed._" He drew closer, "I talked to him before I came here. He said nothing is going on-"

"-That's because nothing is, Robb. Jon is your brother. I would never have sex with him or anyone else. You're my husband and I love you."

"But you would rather have him!"

"No! Robb, you're being ridiculous. You're accusing me based on smallfolk rumors that are probably just stories for entertainment."

"If they are just stories, then why is it about you and Jon? Why not me and you? Where do they get these ideas from then? I see it more sensible to make up lies about us than you two."

"I don't know. Maybe after the incident with the wolves and Jon hurting his arm, they thought he and I did something. What were the odds we would both be there at the same time?" She said, trying to laugh.

"Why were you there? You were supposed to be in your bed."

"I went to pray. I...I was nervous about our marriage, because I've seen my parents and their marriage, and my grandparents before that, and I worried ours might be the same," She pressed herself against him, cupping his jaw. "I didn't know Jon would be there. Honest."

He looked into her eyes; they were filled with sadness and worry. He did not feel so cold anymore. Perhaps she was telling the truth.

"I told him he was going to The Wall," He said. If she didn't love Jon, she wouldn't care too much if he did. "He'd serve a better cause up there than here."

She paused, no longer looking at him. "Oh…I…I didn't know he was even staying until a bit ago. The Queen told me."

"He'll be leaving tomorrow morning with my uncle. I don't care what he says, he's trained well enough, and they'll train him even harder up there."

"I'm sure he'll do well…now will you please stop with all this nonsense? Will his leaving calm you down? I don't want my husband angry with me over a bunch of silly rumors. I love him too much."

She soothed him with a tender kiss. Her arm leave his shoulder and to her back. When he looked over, he saw she had unlaced the top of her dress.

"Care to do the rest for me?" She smirked.

"We just had in the forest-"

"-Well, you were pretty quick about it…I love it when you take your time with me."

She continued kissing him, and he couldn't resist. All thought of the rumors faded away.


	15. Chapter 15: Gareth

She walked in as she always had done: Her head up high and skirts flowing about her. Cersei Lannister made a habit out of surprising him. Gareth never complained though. She was queen now. She could do what she wished. Sitting in his seat in front of the fire, he heard the door open and close behind him. He knew exactly why she came now. Sora was with Catelyn, so there were no wandering He peeked over his shoulder to where she stood. Her long curls hung around her face, and her deep green hues stared at him. She grinned.

"Afternoon, Your Grace," He said, standing up from his seat,

"Please Gareth, we're alone."

"Fine. Afternoon, _Cersei,_" Gareth corrected himself, seeing her grinning at him.

"Afternoon Gareth," She bowed her head, "Hope I'm not interrupting."

"Of course not. Please, sit."

Gareth offered her the seat beside him. He poured out wine for himself, and then for the lady. He recalled days where the two of them merely sat in each other's company and drank. They spent hours talking about everything. Nothing in the world mattered when they were together; not even the fact that he knew she truly loved Jamie. Those days are over now. Sora owned his heart. The young, sweet gentle maiden from Highgarden managed to tame the wild, brutish warrior from Tower Hill. She deserved something…he handed her his heart. He sipped from his cup; then he peered over.

"She loves that Snow boy," Cersei said.

"I know. Even the dumbest fool in the Seven Kingdoms could see that," He reclined in his chair.

"What do you plan to do about it? Surely you don't want another bastard child on your hands?" She sipped some of her own wine.

"I'm grateful for your concern, Cersei, but we have it under control. Robert, Ned and I made the plan of alerting Robb about them and Jon's intent of staying here in Winterfell. Ned was certain the boy would act immediately. He told me he seemed pretty upset."

"Naturally. Dalia's one of the most beautiful, desired maidens in the Seven Kingdoms. He'd be a fool if he let some bastard boy come and sweep her away." She took a drink, "You should have seen her though, Gareth. She looked as though a wheelhouse had run over her dog."

"Dalia is a strong girl. She will make it through," Gareth said, "It's in her blood."

"I assume Sora feels the same?"

He knew she would bring her up. "Yes, she does. She suggested the idea first. Sora doesn't want people calling a whore behind her back if she ever mothered a bastard. She loves Dalia too much. She's already begun telling her about child-bearing and giving advice on being a good mother. I'm surprised how well Sora took to her. I thought she'd resent her like Catelyn did." He looked over to Cersei.

She grew quiet. The slender fingers around the cup tightened slightly; her eyes bared a hard look. "That should be me."

"Cersei…"

"No, Gareth," She snapped her head to him. "Dalia is my daughter. _My_ daughter. I birthed her myself; through all the agony, pain and blood I pushed that child out of me with all my strength. I carried her inside me for nine months, hoping and waiting for the day I'd get to hold her." He saw a small fury in her, "And then after three days of happiness, you and my father come in and steal her away from me. My father tore her from my arms, handed her to you, and I never saw her again."

"You were going to be a queen," Gareth reasoned. "How would it have looked if the queen came to the Red Castle holding a baby in her arms?"

"Oh please! People already know about you and me! About me, her birth, her real name! _Dalia…_I suppose Sora picked the name?" When he did not answer, she laughed mockingly, "Of course. She doesn't even look like a Dalia; the name doesn't befit her at all."

"I supposed Priscilla would have?" He guessed.

"Yes...Priscilla Lannister. The name fits her so well; had she stayed with me, you'd all be calling her Priscilla Lannister."

"You sure you don't mean 'Mason' or 'Baratheon'?"

"No. Those names aren't good for her. She's nothing like the Baratheon's at all and she's not Robert's child; Yes she is a Mason by blood, but she would've lived with me. She would've been a Lannister."

"She would've been a 'Hill'. Bastard children don't get family names."

"I don't care. She's a Lannister…She's a lion at heart."

He saw the drifting look in Cersei's eyes. Remorse showered over him for a moment. He felt torn between hating himself for making Dalia, but then loving her at the same time. Sora glared at him whenever he mentioned Cersei's name. His father feigned deafness; Robert and Ned told him not to blame himself. In all this mess, people forget about the woman who brought Dalia into the world.

"You'll never tell her, will you?" She looked to him.

"No…She's better off not knowing. She has enough to worry about right now. Telling her that she's actually a bastard girl whose mother is the queen of the Seven Kingdoms might be a little too much for her," He grinned, gulping some wine.

"She should know-"

"-Yes, but not now," Gareth cut in. "One day we will tell her, but not today. Let her enjoy her youth without so many worries."

"You should be telling Jon Snow that…not me."

"I would if the boy wasn't dead afraid of me like the rest of them."

"Well, if you stopped stomping around like a giant, perhaps people might be a little less intimidated."

"They don't call me 'The Brute' because I'm soft."

"No, they call you it because you're always hard."

They both looked at one another. A second later they were chuckling. He sometimes wondered what kept him from being with Cersei. When she retracted her claws, pulled back the fangs and reigned in that tongue, she was pleasant. Reminded him of Dalia for a moment.


	16. Chapter 16: Jon

The very next morning, Jon found himself finally closing his bag. He hardly spoke since he rose out of his bed. Dalia, Robb, his father, Lord Mason and the rest of them clouded his dreams. He broke his fast of bread, bacon and honey in silence while everyone else chatted away. He had no desire to speak with anyone. He hoped he'd leave soon, so the haunting memories never came again. He wanted escape from the whispers, rumors and urges. Jon tried avoiding Dalia when he could. He worried Robb might see them and think his suspicions were true. On The Wall, all worry would cease. Seeing the sadness in Dalia's eyes could never follow him there.

If it wasn't Dalia worrying him, it was Bran. His youngest brother. The news of him falling from the high tower reached Jon in only minutes. Their wolves began howling loudly throughout the rest of the night. He remembered walking into Bran's room that day when Lady Stark was absent. The sleeping boy looked so broken and helpless. Bran always been a boy who loved adventure and climbing. He had been invincible. The maester said Bran will live, but he'd possibly be a cripple. Jon wished he'd be able to see Bran when he woke up. He wanted a proper goodbye. However, he had orders…from his own brother.

Jon walked out of his room, bag over his shoulder, and headed for the stables. Bran would've no doubt come to see him off. So would've Dalia if he hadn't scorned her. Jon hated thinking about either of them, because the thought only weighed him down. As he saddled his horse, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Dalia strolled by the kitchen door nearby. She wore a simple pale blue dress with a dark blue cloak fastened with silver eagles. Her hair trailed down her back in its usual fashion, just the way he liked it. He noticed at once she walked alone. Normally someone always accompanied her, which made speaking with her impossible. He watched her walk inside the castle, most likely heading towards her bedchambers.

Whatever possessed him must be evil. Placing the saddle on correctly, tying his sack to the fastenings, he left the horse by the stables. He knew following her was dangerous, but something said he should. This would be the last time he ever saw her face. After he made for The Wall, he'd never be allowed her company. She'd be here in Winterfell while he sat miles away on the cold wall, wishing for her. Brothers of The Night's Watched took no wives and fathered no children. Not that this mattered to Jon. He only wanted Dalia's love; not her hand in marriage or her carrying his child.

Nobody noticed the black-haired boy marching into the castle after her. He kept his distance however. He did not know how Dalia felt about him. Remembering her tears, he wondered if she was angry with him. She must be. She avoided him as much as he avoided her. He'd never put a good smack in the face past her. Their eyes constantly met when they passed each other or sat in the feasting hall. Hurt and resentment lived in hers. They'd cast away from him quickly. He'd always leave. He couldn't stand it. Jon fell asleep thinking of that pain; the pain he caused a beautiful girl all because he was scared.

Regardless, he moved. Climbing up stairs, passing by servants and open doors, he found her bedchambers. For once, he heard no voices. Finding the handle, he opened the door. Dalia stood by a bookshelf. She hadn't looked at him when he walked in; she kept stacking up books.

"Dalia…" He said softly, shutting the door.

"How's Bran doing?" She said without looking at him.

"The maester says he's going to live," He replied. "He's in a deep sleep now and they don't know if he'll ever wake, but he's alive."

"Bran's a strong boy…He'll wake."

"He is…" He cleared his throat, "I'm…Dalia, I…" How did people start apologies? "I'm sorry…for what I said at the feast, I just…I was drunk and didn't know what I was saying…I…I never mean a word of it, I swear. I won't lie…about people guessing and whispering about us worrying me because Robb thought…Robb came up to me yesterday about you and me…He thought-"

"-He thought you and I had sex," She said, not turning around. "I know…he asked me about it."

"Wha-What did you tell him?"

"The truth…or part of it. I told him you never touched me or thought of touching me; that what happened in the godswood was exactly what it was, and that people only lied."

He expected nothing otherwise. "Still…I apologize for what I said to you. The part about you thinking I'm not good enough or that you're a liar-"

"-Don't be…I am a liar. I've been lying to Robb, to my mother, to my father and to everyone else," She faced him. "I should have told you how I felt in the beginning; I should have told everyone _'I love Jon Snow.'_ Perhaps if I had said something, they would have left us alone."

"No they wouldn't have. You're a highborn lady. You have to marry someone equal to you. We could never really be together." The truth plunged into him like a sword. "I regret telling you to stay away from me. I regret every single thing I said because it pushed you away. I feel…I feel as if there's something between you and me that I cannot ignore any longer, this wrenching feeling in my stomach whenever I see you," He stood inches away from her now, looking down into those mesmerizing eyes. "I wish I could take back everything I said and just hold you once before I leave for good. In the godswood, I wanted to kiss you, I really did. I wanted to tell you the reason I never touched you was because I was afraid. I lose all focus and confidence when you enter a room." He held her hands in his, "Dalia…I only wanted to tell you that…I…I love you. I've never loved any other woman the way I love you. Please forgive me. I can't leave knowing you hate me."

She stayed silent for a moment. He felt his anxiety stab him like a knife that twisted inside as she thought. His whole body went numb. What if he had been wrong? What if she never really liked him? What if she did, but didn't anymore? Jon spilled his heart out to her, yet she merely stood there.

"I don't hate you," She finally said. "I never can. I found hating you hard. I think about you too often to throw you aside. No matter what I do, you somehow end up coming to mind whether it's a good memory or a bad one." The softness of her hand cradled his cheek, "I love Robb. He's good to me as a husband should be. Yet there's something that keeps me from fully giving my heart to him. I try thinking of him at times, but eventually your face comes to mind. Then I remember I love you too. Call me insane, call me childish, but over these few days you've done more to me than you know, Jon Snow. I don't care if you're baseborn; you'll always be good enough for me. Jon…I love you."

Everything happened quickly. Their lips locked together, their arms circled one another into a tight embrace. This kiss shielded them from their worries and sorrows. In each other's arms the world never touched them. The warmth building between them comforted him; the passion soothed him. He felt nearly drunk off her love. He held himself up so his knees did not give way; his mind whirled around, but Dalia stayed still. A thousand years might have gone by and they would still be there.

Small snaps sounded; their cloaks fell onto the floor together. She pushed them away from the bookshelf onto the feather bed. He pulled off his gloves without breaking; his hands finally touched her. His fingers grazed the unblemished skin of her cheek, the other touching the silk ribbons lacing her dress. He heard her giggle as he fumbled with them clumsily. He cared not.

Moments later, they were naked, Jon between Dalia's thighs. Their souls molded together as their bodies did, becoming one form floating away from the atmosphere and into the heavens. Every touch, every kiss, and every thrust made Jon feel even better. If someone came in, he wouldn't have noticed. A part of him did not heed.

He rolled off Dalia when they finished, but still held her. She warned him that Robb would be coming back from the hunt soon. The unconcerned part of him tuned her out as he kissed up her shoulder to her lips. If they were dreaming, Jon never wanted to wake up.

He finally cracked…


	17. Chapter 17: Nivia

She saw them all on their horses. The Queen's wheelhouse creaked and swayed side to side as the Queen and her ladies-in-waiting climbed inside, the kingsguard surrounding it sound of murmured voices and clopping horseshoes filled he courtyard,. Both Prince Joffery and the guard Kingston both grinned widely as she passed them, which she returned with the same sweet smile. Kingston urged her to come by King's Landing one day, and of course Nivia agreed. Hearing she'd come see him sent the guard off with a happy conscience. Of course, Nivia would never _actually_ visit King's Landing, and if she did, she wouldn't see Kingston the kingsguard.

The only person she truly smirked at was Theon; seeing his jealous scowl crawl across his face made Nivia giggle. She beamed him a grin and made her cleavage more apparent when they laid eyes on each other. His eyes never left her; he peeked over his shoulder and watched her leave. She knew he'd look for her later, question her about the guard, and then try getting in between her legs…again. Theon Greyjoy was like a fat little boy who wanted more sweets than offered. Nivia wasn't a whore. She was a lady.

_'A lady. That's what I am. Ladies don't push out bastards.'_

Antonia fell in with her as she passed the stables.

"I visited Bran Stark today," Antonia said, "I brought his mother some flowers to put by his bedside."

"Flowers aren't going to wake him up, Toni," Nivia said indifferently.

"But it's a nice gesture anyways. He's only a little boy; what happened to him is very sad."

"They say he's going to be a cripple," They walked by one of the castle towers, and Nivia knew they were almost out of earshot. "I think the gods should take him instead."

"Nivia!"

"So then he won't suffer through life as a cripple. Remember Uncle Normand? How he walks around with crutches after they sawed off his leg? Bran's never going to be the same after this."

The leather bound book clutched in Antonia's hand read _'Fertility Herbs and Flowers'. _Nivia felt a bit relieved. If she could count on anyone for research, it was Antonia. They continued walking on until they went into the godswood. The only secret place in Winterfell was the godswood. As she planned, nobody sat underneath the tress or by the pool where they stopped.

"Have you found anything?" Nivia asked, turning to her sister.

"I found a woman who said she could make the moon tea for a few gold dragons. She'd get the herbs, make the tea herself, and keep her silence," Antonia answered. "The tea will take a while to complete, but she said it'd be worth it in the end. We'll just take it with us when we leave."

"Good. I can get Father to give me some gold," She nodded. "I'll tell him it's for the seamstress or the bard or murmurs. He'll believe me."

Antonia then said, "Are you sure you should do this? What if you're not pregnant?"

"I know I am," Nivia whispered, "I haven't had my moon's blood yet, and the month is nearly over. I can't afford any risks."

"But…But this is almost murder. This baby you're bringing could become a high lord of a giant castle some day or a knight of the kingsguard. You should see this baby as a blessing instead of a curse. Imagine all the wonderful things it'd be able to do once it got older. If you kill it now, you could be completely altering history or-"

"-Don't be ridiculous, Antonia," Nivia retorted. "Babies never think that far ahead of themselves."

"This is wrong; Niv and you know it is. You're ridding the world of one more life. The Old Gods are sending you this little blessing so you can learn from your mistakes."

"Mistakes? What mistakes?"

"You know exactly what mistakes you've made," Antonia said. "Grandmother told me once the gods sometimes send us messages we can learn from, like you and this child, if you have one I mean. The harsh labor of pushing that little angel out of you and caring for it will teach you about-"

"-I did not ask for a preaching, Antonia!"

Nivia plopped down on the bench beside the pool in front of the tree. Looking up into its face, she stared into the eyes dripping with red sap. She prayed silently that all went well. The thought of telling her parents a baby lived inside her made her sick. She could hear them telling her how disappointed they were in her; how difficult finding a husband will be now. Absentmindedly, she clutched at her stomach. No swelling of her stomach or breasts showed yet. She still had time. Running a hand through her hair, she tried thinking steadily. If Nivia drank the tea, nobody would know. There will be no baby, no marriage, no anything. Theon will be just another man in her life.

"Nivie," Antonia took a seat beside her, "Please think on your plan. This is a serious thing you're doing. What if you decide later on that you really did want it? It'll destro-"

"-I don't want it! I don't want a crying, squealing infant waking me up at all hours of the night because it's hungry or needs changing or whatever! I don't want a baby, Antonia! That's why I'm getting rid of it as soon as I can!"

Antonia fell silent as Nivia began weeping. She would not be the laughingstock of Westeros because she spread her legs for Theon Greyjoy. He's not even that special. He was just another man who took her interest. This little bastard was coming out of her one way or another.

"Go to this woman," Nivia said, "Tell her we'll pay her whatever she wants as long as I get that tea."

"I've been looking up some of the herbs used in the tea," Antonia said, "They say the pennyroyal can be fatal if the wrong amount is put into the tea, and that tansy can give some harsh side-effects. She'd have to make it absolutely perfect if you really want to get rid of the baby."

"A risk I'm willing to take." She wiped the tears off her cheeks with her sleeve.

"So, you're saying you'd rather die than admit you're carrying a child? Nivie, I'm sure once our parents mull over it, they'll be glad you're having a baby. The only thing missing is you marrying-"

"-I don't want to marry anyone, especially Theon!"

"Well then tough," Antonia said. "You decided to open your legs like a common whore and now you're paying the price for it. I hope this moon tea doesn't work, so then you can learn your lesson the hard way. The gods give us children for a reason. You killing the baby is an insult to them-"

Her sentence was cut off by the sound of rustling nearby. The sisters turned at the sound, staring around the quiet wood. Nivia worried for a moment that someone might have been listening. There were many eyes and ears in Winterfell. She tried thinking maybe it was a rabbit or a fox, but the twisting in her gut did not vanish.

"The sooner we do this the better. We're leaving in a few hours."

"I'll talk to her for you," Antonia whispered. "You get the gold."

"You're pregnant?"

Nivia's heart skipped a beat. Her entire body felt tingly and numb; she froze in place. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father approaching them both. His scar seemed to fade with the anger his eyes bore. He wore his usual fox-fur and boiled leather cloak, with his double-sided axe on his hip. He stormed up the pathway until he was right next to them.

"Um…Um…" Nivia stammered, "Father, you misheard what I said. I-"

"-I knew you have done many foolish things in the past, Nivia, but I never thought you'd do something like this. And Antonia," He whipped his head to her, "I expected better. You helping your sister kill a baby."

"No Father," Antonia said, "I was trying to talk her out of it-"

"-This is not the place for discussing this. My bedchambers. Now!"

The two girls stood up, heads bowed, and briskly walked after their father. Nivia felt ashamed. Not for aborting the thing, but for the frustration in her father's eyes. She never thought he'd find out. Ned Stark called out to her father about when they'd be done, whom he told- as calmly as he could- something had just come up and to go without him. Nivia caught Theon's eyes; they shared the same worry. The three Masons walked all the way up to his bedchambers where their mother stood packing. Nivia thought she might be sick. Antonia did not look any better.

Her father explained everything to her, whose face grew more and more upset with each word. Sora was not angry, but dissatisfied instead.

"Girls," She said, coming towards them, "I thought you both better than this. You know what you're planning is wrong. Moon Tea can be highly dangerous if made the wrong way. Did you two think you would get it right on the first try? Were you paying someone to make it instead?"

"I found someone who said she'd make it for us," Antonia confessed. "Nivia was going to ask you for gold-"

"-You twit!" Nivia hissed at her.

"You sister is right in telling us the truth," Sora said. "This is not the time to keep secrets."

"Who's the father?" Their father suddenly barked. "Who's the man who spilled it inside you?"

"How long ago was this, Nivia?" Her mother said gently. "If it wasn't so long ago, you might not even be pregnant at all, which makes drinking Moon Tea worse. You must be utterly sure."

"It was a few days ago," Nivia answered. "I always have my moon's blood by this time, and it hasn't come yet."

Her mother studied her. Nivia glanced to her father, who appeared more apprehensive than ever. Men did not understand pregnancy.

"Then we will just have to wait," Her mother said finally. "Sometimes a woman's bleeding might come later than normal. It happened to me once when I was your age. There's no need for fretting so early."

"But what if I am?" Nivia asked.

"Then Tower Hill will be blessed with a beautiful baby,"

"A bastard is more like it," Her father cut in. "Who is the father? Tell me. Is it that Theon Greyjoy?" When Nivia lowered her eyes again, he grunted, "I'm going to cut that boy's manhood off the next time I see him."

"Nivia," Her mother lifted her chin up, "Did you ask him to? Did you offer yourself to him or did he force you?"

Nivia looked between both her parents. She can always lie. She can tell them Theon raped her that day in the bath and left this thing inside her. She can say she never wanted him; she only enjoyed teasing him. Looking at Antonia, she saw pleading in her sister's eyes. She knew Antonia would want her to tell the truth.

"I asked him to," Nivia said. "He walked in on me bathing and we just…I didn't think this would happen. I wasn't thinking. Forgive me."

Sora wiped a tear off her daughter's face, "You're young; curiosity is normal for a girl your age."

"How can you be so calm about this, Sora?" Her father asked. "Our daughter is pregnant with a bastard!"

"Lower your voice!" Sora whispered, "There's an easy way of remedying this: She'll have to marry him."

"What? No!" Nivia said. "Mother, please! I don't want to marry him."

"Then you should have thought of that before you decided to let him fuck you," Sora said.

Their father looked to Antonia, "How long has this been going on?"

"A few days, Father."

"Why did you not tell us then?" He asked, "I thought out of all of you children, you'd be the first to come tell us something like this."

"I…I…" Tears welled up in Antonia's eyes, "I was just helping my sister. I tried talking her out of it, I really did. I thought if I said the baby was a blessing and that she's killing a baby, she'd decide not to," She began sobbing, "I'm so sorry. I promise I won't lie again."

"That was a stupid thing to do. You know how stubborn your sisters are; you should have come and told us what was happening!"

"Gareth, don't blame this on Toni," Sora said, hugging her sobbing daughter. "She was only doing what she felt was right. When Theon returns, we will tell him what he did and what we plan to do…and you won't be cutting off any manhoods here."

Their father sighed deeply. "I'll write to Balon. We'll see what he says. Theon_ is_ his son after all."

"You two go pack," Their mother said, "We'll be leaving soon."


	18. Chapter 18: Dalia

Her eyes hurt; her hair still messy and the scent of him still lingered on her clothes. The smell of his hair stuck itself on her pillows, the sheets tousled just like his soft curls. She felt her heart slicing in two every moment she watched him move further and further away. The warm walls did nothing to comfort the pain inside. The summer winds swam into the room, washing every scent of Jon out. Dalia did not care. The worst thing she ever saw was Jon mounting his horse, and slowly moving with the rest of the men.

Even worse was when he looked over his shoulder. He seemed to know exactly what window she stood by. A tear fell down her cheek for the few minutes they stared; a sob then followed. She couldn't watch, but her eyes did not look away.

'_I love you'_ His lips shaped out before he turned and followed his uncle Benjen out the gate.

Dalia's eyes closed and she slammed the window shut. Her hands combed through her hair, her sobs scratched her throat and made her chest rise and fall. She tried stifling her cries, but just barely. Dalia only had him once. She only kissed him once. She would never feel his touch again; hear his voice, his laugh, his smile. They would never have their talks or those silent moments between the both; those glances they shared from across rooms. For the rest of her life, Robb would be the one holding her. She crashed onto her bed; she cried into her pillow and muffled the sound.

"Dalia," A voice said from behind her door, "Everything alright?"

Her grandfather then limped into the room; Korbin absent his side. He looked frail and almost broken; he no longer worse his armor. His white hair thinned a bit more, and he developed a cough. She noticed his pale face and his shaking hands. Today was a bad day. He frowned at the sight of her.

"Oh sunshine," He said, coming her way and settling on the bed. A liver-spotted hand brushed hair from her face as she turned over to look at him, "You knew this day was coming."

"I just didn't think it would hurt so much," She sniffled. "I thought I had come to terms with it, but I suppose I haven't."

"Dalia, let me tell you a story,"

"Another one of your famous stories?"

"Yes, another one," He began, "When I was very young, I met a woman. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Silk was coarse compared to her hair; her eyes were the color of gold dragons; skin smoother than marble. Whenever I looked at her my heart stopped. I met her when I visited Sunspear with my father. When I spoke with her, I found out she was not all beauty. This woman had a fire inside her I never saw in women. She was wise and far more intelligent beyond her years, not to mention she could hold her drink very well.

"I spent a few days there while my father held business with the king. Those were the best days of my life. The both of us would walk down the streets, sit in the gardens, spend all our days together. I never seemed satisfied with one meeting," He sighed, "We knew our love was folly; she was a servant and I was a nobleman with my intended waiting. The day I left, I cried. I thought being young and naive the loss would never hurt me. I was wrong. For days I thought of her; all the possibilities haunted me. All the 'what-ifs' came back to me…they still do…"

"And what happened after?" Dalia asked, "Did you ever go back and see her?"

"No," He said. "I kept my distance. Word told us she had already been wedded by the time we reached home, so my fantasy ended. I saw no purpose in chasing something I'll never have again. Sometimes Dalia," He leant towards her, "The things we want are the things we can never possess. I wanted my Dornish maid; you want your Northern bastard. The sooner we accept these facts, the better off we'll be."

"But…you never feel whole, do you Grandfather? Grandmother never made you happy. I know because of all the other women you've been with."

"To be honest, no I do not. When you lose someone you," A harsh cough interrupted him. Once he recovered he went on: "Lose someone you love, you never feel complete. There's an emptiness growing bigger and bigger all the time until it devours all the love in you. I spent the early years of my marriage finding someone who gave me that same happiness. I went all over: Highgarden, The Eyrie, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, Riverrun, Winterfell, all over. I thought if the gods created a woman like her, then they must have made more somewhere…my search turned out to be in vain. The only thing I received for my trouble was a bunch of bastard children, an angry wife, and disappointed children. By this time, my heart already used up all its love. The little love I have I spared for my children and grand-"Another cough came, "-Grandchildren.

"I hope, for your sake, you do not end up the same. You're young. You have a long life to live." He kissed her brow, "You be good to Robb. He is a good man and he treats you well. Goodbye, my sunshine."

She hugged him tightly. "Please, ride in the wheelhouse today," Dalia said.

"I will have to. Your father insists I should with this ridiculous cough I have," The cough came on roughly, forcing it into the handkerchief. She noted a spot of blood.

They embraced again and then he left. She rested back into her pillows, inhaling the scent deeply. Her tears fled, but the pain never did. Her grandfather told them stories so they would learn from them. Dalia learned that love is painful and the gods are cruel. They gave her both Robb and Jon. They tortured her with the decision; then when she chose, they took him away.

"Dalia?"

Nivia and Antonia appeared in the doorway. She did not greet them with a smile. "I lost him," Dalia told them, "I lost him forever."

They both came to her sides, lying against the pillows with her. Antonia took her hand, and Nivia rested her head on Dalia's shoulder. "We know. We both knew this would happen."

She nodded. The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, and then Nivia spoke: "Well, you won't be losing me so quick."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm to marry Theon," She said. "Father found out about us and said we'd be married now. So, I'm staying here with him until then."

"But, you two don't really love each other, do you? You know what he's…" Then she understood. She turned to Antonia, "Don't tell me it's true?" She looked back, "Nivie, you didn't…"

"Mother says I might not be pregnant. Women miss their months all the time; even she said she did. Father wants us married in case I am…Masons don't produce bastards."

"Mason _women_ don't produce bastards," Antonia said. "Mother says we must keep this amongst ourselves before anyone else finds out."

"And let us hope you're pregnant with Robb's and not Jon's," Nivia said.

"What?" Dalia said. "Nivia you know I'd never-"

"-Liar. You've been plucked since I last saw you and Robb isn't home. I'd watch my moon's blood if I was you."

"If I ever have a child, it'll be Robb's. The Gods know he's bedded me enough."

"Still…"

"Let's not talk of babies anymore," Antonia said. "I'm leaving soon and I don't want all this on my mind. Tell us what he was like."


	19. Chapter 19: Robb

Robb climbed up the stairs to his bedchambers. A servant told him Dalia had been in their bedroom all morning, and he knew why. He held a bunch of white and pink orchids he bought off a woman in Torrhen's Square. The Masons left earlier in the day; he knew she would be upset. He thought of all the things he could say when he gave them to her.

_'Dalia, I brought you these flowers because…because they're beautiful and you're beautiful. No, that's stupid…These orchids reminded me of you because they're…they're special. No. Dalia, my love, I brought you these because I knew they'd make you happy….well, at least Jon is gone now.' _

A worry lifted from him ever since he saw Jon leave the courtyard. He loved his brother. They grew up together side-by-side. Accusing Jon so harshly might not have been best, but did anyone blame him? He loved Dalia. She was his wife. The thought of Jon betraying him in such a way angered him. He felt guilty for feeling relieved. The next time he saw his brother, he'd be all in black…and unable to bed a woman.

Bran worried him even more. His little brother…someone who thought he was invincible; unable of feeling any kind of hurt. The fall happened so suddenly. Their direwolves howled every night and almost all day since the accident. The howls appeared as a sort of song; singing of their sorrows and worries. He never expected to hear his brother would no longer use his legs, and be completely helpless. Any dream of becoming a knight was lost. Robb remembered how the stories of noble knights excited Bran; only pushing his goal further along. He spent hours in the practice yard, saying he'd be the bravest, strongest knight. Now, he must settle for something else.

Dalia lied on their bed, facing the fireplace. The crackling fire beside their bed silhouetted her slender figure, making the gold in her hair less noticeable in the shadow. The sound of the door shutting made her turn her head around. She was already dressed in her bedclothes; her hair slightly damp from the bath. She did not smile at him.

"How have you been?" He asked, walking towards the bed.

"I've been better," She said, rolling over on her side. "You've been out for a while."

"I came back from seeing Bran." He handed her the orchids, "I brought you these when I went to Torrhen Square. I thought you might like them."

She held them in her hands. "They're beautiful. I love them."

Sadness filled her eyes. A part of him thought something else bothered her, but he pushed this aside. He sat beside her and turned her head towards him. He kissed her tenderly, "Please don't be upset. Tower Hill isn't so far away, no more than fifty or sixty leagues from here. Also, you have Nivia here with you. She'll be here to keep you company."

"I just…I miss them," She said. "I knew they'd be leaving, but I never thought about how I'd handle it; I feel like I've lost them forever. I know I won't see them until I have a child in my arms. My father is too busy being a lord and my mother a lady."

"You haven't lost them. I'm sure your mother will be sending ravens every week," He grinned. He kissed her again, "Smile for me...please? I love it when you smile." He nuzzled his nose with her, planting brief kisses on her cheeks and her lips, before a smile went across her face.

"How is Bran?" She asked.

"The same," He stood up from the bed. Robb hung cloak, and then began undressing. "Maester Luwin says the worst is over. Waiting is all we can do now."

"He'll never walk again; he won't run or jump or climb. I'm sure Hodor will start carrying him everywhere like a baby," Dalia said. "That's not the proper life for a little boy."

He frowned. "You shouldn't worry so much." Naked, he climbed underneath the covers. He took the flowers and set them aside. "Bran will be fine. I promise." Robb kissed her cheek, and then kissed her neck, and then her shoulder until he found the hem of her robe. "Have you swelled yet?"

"No. My mother said a few weeks may pass before I show."

He noticed she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes adverted towards the fire; the sheets balled in her hands. Robb caught the tears building in those blue and green orbs. He wiped one away with his finger, and then kissed where it had spilled. He wrapped his arms around her.

"Tell me what I can do to make you happy," He murmured, "Please tell me. I hate seeing you upset."

She began crying. Robb never guessed the hurt hit this much. He understood missing family. He understood why his mother cried all the time now…

Then it dawned on him. Dalia did not weep for her family. She might have cried some for them. However, she cried for someone else. These tears were for Jon. A small monster stirred inside his gut, making him wish he never brought those flowers. She probably would love them more if Jon had given them. He wanted to yell, scream, and tell her Jon will never return. However, his lips remained closed. He kissed goodnight, and then tried falling asleep.

* * *

><p>He walked into Bran's room late a few nights later. His mother sat in the same wooden chair. Slender hands weaving strings of yarn around a wreath, her eyes focused on her task. Small figures of yarn and wood were pinned on the wreath in the shapes of The Seven Gods. She only had four completed. Bran's direwolf, Summer, nearly blended in with the bed furs. Bran still slept. His dark brown locks neatly brushed; eyes shut and skin pale white, Robb glanced down to the furs covering his legs. Last time he saw them, they resembled twigs. Maester Luwin said they'd most likely always be so; they'd be useless to him. His mother's eyes looked up at him when he entered. Judging by the redness around them, the watery glaze in her eyes, she had been crying again. Winter did not need to come. He felt as if it already came.<p>

Out the window, the moon sat halfway. The winds blew lightly, making the branches in the trees shake gently; the stars twinkled now in the darkness of Winterfell. The only thing ruining the silence was long, loud howls. All the direwolf pups' howls carried all throughout the castle, echoing off the stone walls and barging through the windows. They seemed to be singing a lament of sorts. Their crying expressed the sadness. Their howling drove him crazy, but also filled him with nostalgia. Summer was the only quiet one, which he appreciated.

"You should get some sleep," He told his mother. "I'll send Old Nan in here to watch him."

"No! I want to be here when he wakes!" She said, turning away from him.

"Mother, Maester Luwin said the worst part is over," He came forward into the room. "Bran will wake up soon and everything will be right aga-"

"-No it won't!" The grievance in her voice reminded him of Dalia. "He'll never walk again, Robb. My son will be a cripple the rest of his life. His dreams, his goals, his wishes will never come true because he lost the ability to move on his own. What kind of life is that for a little boy?"

He nodded. He moved by the window, "Dalia said the same thing."

She scoffed, "Dalia…More like the whore-"

"-Don't call her that," Robb snapped.

"Robb, please do not tell me you believe her. You saw how she cried when he left. I hear her sobs whenever I passed your room. You've heard the stories."

"They're not true. She told me herself: Nothing happened between them. Jon is my brother. She is my wife. They would never betray me. Dalia…misses her family."

"Is that what you've been telling yourself? That she's such an angel? Everyone knows The Masons. They're all a bunch of adulterers. Look at Ser Kellan: He has five bastard children; from all corners of Westeros. Then look at his father and grandfather, look at his sons and some of his daughters! Look at Nivia and she isn't even married yet! Infidelity is in their blood. Don't even start me on bastards. Born of lust and flesh; I would not be surprised if he came onto her first."

Robb refused to listen. Admitting he suspected something meant he believed the rumors. He hated thinking of not trusting Dalia. Yes, they had only been married a few weeks but he found himself loving her. He wanted to trust her. He wanted a loving marriage. He'd see his mother and father standing together or kissing or holding each other and wished for that. He turned away from his mother and stared out the window.

The summer winds blew against his face, filling his lungs with a fresh scent. The cold felt refreshing. His eyes gazed out over Winterfell. Everything remained pitch black in the night, still and calm as if holding its breath. However, something caught his eye. A yellow and orange speck broke the darkness on top of the stables. Out cries mingled with the wolves, the sounds of boots charging pass the doors and shadowy figures exiting from all corners of Winterfell. The glow grew larger and larger the longer he stared.

"Fire," He said, shutting the window tightly. He met his mother's eyes, "You stay here; lock the door."

Robb barged out of the door and down the flight of steps. When he moved past the threshold of the castle, the crackling and blazing fire appeared more real. Men were grabbing buckets from their homes or from the wells; they splashed them over the orange flames slowly spreading down to the ground while men went up into the windows above to catch the rest. He passed stable hands herding out horses from their stations; Robb dodging out of their way. Robb began helping, along with Theon, by tossing the water onto the nearest fires. They went back and forth between wells and men, grabbing whatever water they could. It seemed like hours before the fire died and everything became dark again.

Standing there, looking at the partial ruin, he panted slightly.

"You realize you're going to have to fix this, right?" Theon asked, hands on his hips.

"Yes."

"Robb!"

Maester Luwin came up behind him, his chest heaving as he clutched onto Robb's shoulder. "Maester Luwin, what's wrong?"

"You mother. Bran. They were attacked!"

"What?"

He moved immediately. He brushed against shoulders, stormed through doors, and rushed up stairs. All sorts of evil things flowed through his mind as he moved closer towards Bran's room. He imagined pools of blood, lifeless bodies and a funeral pyre. He pictured his mother covered in crimson with wounds punctured into her chest. He saw Bran finally taking some sort of peace. What if Dalia was there? What if she was hurt somewhere else? He had to find them.

"Robb!" Dalia came out of the door. He saw red covering the front of her dress and staining her hands. "Come quick!"

He ran into the room. His eyes fell on the scene right away. His mother knelt on the floor with a table cloths wrapped around her hands. From the blood seeping through, she had been hurt. Beside her laid a man, quivering on the floor as a blood poured out of his neck wound. In a few minutes, the man was dead. By the grubby appearance and dirty clothes, this was a sellsword.

"Mother," He reached her, "What happened?"

"This man," She said, "Came in here after you left. He came in and tried to kill Bran!" Tears streamed on her cheeks, "He snuck in and pulled out that knife. He attempted to kill me before Bran because I stood in the way. I fought him off but he sliced my hands," She showed him the long gash going across both her hands. "When he got closer to Bran, the wolf leapt onto him and bit him."

"I came in because I wanted to tell you about the fire," Dalia said, "And instead I found your mother here. I tried covering up her wounds."

Maester Luwin picked up a long dagger. The make of it was far too costly for a common sellsword. This incident seemed strange. "But who would want to kill Bran?" The maester asked.

"It doesn't matter right now," Robb said. "Maester Luwin take my mother and see to her wounds."

The old man nodded, helped Lady Stark up. She said worriedly, "But who will watch Bran? Someone must watch him!"

"I'll watch him," Dalia said. "If there is any change, I will come find you."

His mother analyzed her for a moment. He knew she pondered the idea. This was the woman she bad mouthed minutes ago. Finally, the older woman nodded. Maester Luwin and she walked out of the room. Robb looked at Dalia.

"I'll put guards by the door," Robb told her.

She only nodded, and went by Bran's side. He noticed her eyes were clear again. Perhaps she finally stopped crying.

"Night, my love," He said, kissing her full on the lips.

He felt her smile, then begin kissing him back. "Goodnight."

"I love you."

"And I you."


	20. Chapter 20: Nivia

No bump. Thank the Gods she had no bump yet. Her mother told her the tell would come on much later in the pregnancy, but Nivia checked every morning regardless. Standing in front of the long mirror, she removed her small clothes. Her breasts seemed no different than normal; her stomach grew no larger. She placed a hand there, as if she could already feel something inside her. Nivia did not want a child, no more than she wanted marriage. She hardly cared less of how old her mother and grandmother were when they had their children. She wasn't ready for it yet. Fear gurgled in her gut. The brunette never felt so anxious in her life.

"My lady?" A servant girl appeared in the doorway, "Your belongings have arrived."

"Wonderful, bring them in."

She covered herself with her robe as men walked into the room. They placed her trunks by the foot of bed and excused themselves quietly. The handmaiden began clicking them all open and pulling out clothes: Gowns, small clothes, bed clothes, slippers, shoes, jewelry, and all kinds of things. If Nivia was going to live in Winterfell, she would live fashionably. Of course, once the bump grows, some of these will be altered. She hated thinking of her favorite emerald green gown being fitted for her stupid stomach. Nivia would look fatter than ever; plus, if her mother was right, she'll be eating like a pig. She frowned.

"Something troubling you, my lady?"

Theon stood in the doorway. The servant girl continued unpacking her items as he walked into the room. Nivia tightened the robe around herself more, watching him closely. Today a boiled leather vest was put over his wool grey tunic and black breeches. He smirked as he looked her over, as if he could see right through her robe.

When her father berated Theon for what he had done, Theon had given her a sideways glare. He said he never intended on bedding Nivia. He had merely given into temptation, since Nivia exposed herself to him in the bath. Her parents believed not a single word, yet gave no time for argument. Instead, they told him the marriage would happen sometime soon once the pregnancy is determined. It surprised her Theon did not share her feelings about marriage. Being the man, he'd be allowed to continue bedding whores until he went to the grave. Nobody looked down on him for bringing that whore into his bedchamber. Hardly anyone knew, and those that did didn't care. Theon enjoyed the idea of ordering someone around; someone who is sworn to honor and obey him. He said he could barely wait.

"No," She said, "Only settling in." She rushed to a trunk, and pulled out a long gown made of plum-colored silk and lavender Myrish lace.

Footsteps came up behind her until she felt him inches away from her. Gently, he turned her to face him. The servants scurried away when Theon nodded towards the door. The door shut, silence filled up the room. Deftly, Theon untied the strings of her robe, letting the thin fabric fall off her shoulders. The chill in the room made her shiver; goose pimples on her skin. He smirked down on her as his eyes glued themselves to her.

He brushed his thumb over her the curve of her breast; she shivered slightly. "You're going to make a beautiful bride."

She scoffed, "Yes, I know, even though I don't want to be."

"Why not? Isn't that what all women want? Children and a husband?"

"Not all women. I never wished to marry under such circumstances as being with child. I honestly don't see why it's necessary. The moon tea would have solved all our problems if they had just let me drink it. If they let me, this mess would have never happened."

"But…But your mother said you might never have-"

"-It doesn't matter. They'll marry me to you anyways."

"So the story of the moon tea is true?"

"Yes, it is," She admitted. "I don't understand why everyone was so upset. I tried avoiding a crisis. Do you know what people would say if I pushed a bastard boy out of me?" She moved away from him again, towards a trunk where she grabbed a dark purple bodice embroidered with flowers. She called in a servant, who began lacing her up.

"People gossip all the time. Have you been in the kitchen? Have you sat next to that old bat Nan? All they do is talk about others and their mistakes." He stood beside her, looking at her reflection in the tall mirror.

"I never make mistakes," She sighed, "Is there something you want Theon or did you come up here to bother me?" She asked.

"I wanted to see you….You haven't begun showing yet," He said.

"That's well spotted. Let us hope it stays that way."

"Most women actually look forward to marriage and children and all that," He began.

She laughed, "If you have not noticed, I am not most women. I'm poised, proper and beautiful. I strive to be the best because I am. How many women can say that? I want children and a husband at my own time. If I could have things my way, I would not even have any."

He paused, "Why not?"

"Babies are noisy and dirty. Children aggravate me. My mother says once I have them I'll love them because they'll be mine, but I'd love them more if they did not ruin my figure. My mother never regained hers after birthing six children. She told me she had _all_ her dresses altered. I will not have this dress," She pulled on the purple dress, "Fixed. Do you know how much the cost to alter a Myrish lace and satin dress?"

"Do you know how selfish you sound?" Theon asked, backing away from her. "And I thought I was bad."

"It's not being selfish, and when did you decide you wanted children? You never struck me as the family man." The servant girl sat her down and began brushing her hair.

"Every man wishes for sons," He began, "And how will I get them if my wife refuses me? I need heirs for when I inherit The Iron Islands."

"Impregnate a whore. You're good at fucking them." She grabbed a nearby box, choosing between a butterfly hair pin and a flower hair comb.

"Bastard children do not inherit anything. I will have a son."

"Of course you do. You have to have something, being Ned Stark's hostage and Robb Stark's lackey."

He pushed the servant girl aside, which unraveled the long braid down Nivia's back, and grabbed her face. His hot breath kept down her neck as he spoke into her ear. The fury entwined into his voice.

"When we marry," He said, "I don't care how many dresses you fix or how enormous you become, you will give me sons. You will lie in a bed of blood and pain until the baby comes out of you, and you will continue giving me children. You'll be my wife and it is your duty as one."

"What will you do if I say no?"

"I'll force one in you; don't think I won't."

She chuckled, "You will never do it. You're just a little boy with a bad temper."

"A temper you'll wish you never saw. You shall do whatever I ask of you. You'll keep our home, feed our children, take care of our children, and warm my bed for me at night. It's your job as a woman to make me happy, and you will make me happy. Understand?"

He roughly pushed her away and stalked out of the room. Nivia scoffed. She chose a large purple and white lily from the box. "Should I put at the top or the end?' She asked herself.

* * *

><p>Nivia walked out of her bedchamber towards Dalia's. Her older sister sat in a chair by the window, looking out over Winterfell. She sighed irritably. The girl looked absolutely horrible. Her gorgeous hair tumbling down her shoulders in tousled curls, she still sat in her bed clothes. Nivia felt disappointed. There had been a time where she looked up to Dalia. Her grace, her elegance, her beauty, that was everything Nivia wanted. Now she had it. She carried all the weight and expectations.<p>

"Sadness does horrible things to you, sister," Nivia said, coming beside her.

"Morning to you too, Nivia."

"Have you been in here all morning?" She asked. She took up a brush from the vanity. Nivia stroked the soft bristles through the tangled strands, feeling slight envy.

"Yes. I haven't felt right lately."

"Your meaning?"

"I broke fast with Robb this morning and I retched up everything," She nodded towards the empty chamber pot. "I cannot keep anything down. I cannot get off this chair without feeling sick."

Nivia hesitated, then said: "When was the last time you bled, Dal?"

"I can't remember."

Nivia bent over her sister's shoulder and touched her breast. Dalia recoiled, but Nivia squeezed. The lump seemed larger than she remembered. "Dalia…I think you might be with child now…"

Dalia rested her head on her hand, "I know. Maester Luwin examined me and confirmed it a few hours ago."

She noticed the sullen tone in her voice, "And you're not happy?"

"No, I am. It's wonderful. I've always wanted a child. Remember how I used to take care of you when you were smaller? That's what I'm going to do with this one," She touched her stomach. "I imagined it'll look just like him. He'll have his eyes, his hair, his ears, and his nose, his everything. He'll be mine and I'll love him more than anyone else."

Nivia paused, ceasing the brushing. She observed her sister. She noted the sadness hidden underneath the joy. She saw the redness around her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands. The last few days Dalia hardly smiled; sometimes barely spoke. It seemed the woman fell into a state of comatose where she wanted nothing except…

"Dalia…" She said carefully, "There is a rumor about you and Jon Snow floating around."

"I already know. He was…He was in love with me and he bedded me before the wedding in the forest or the kitchen or the stables or wherever else those stupid smallfolk came up with."

"Well, did you?"

Dalia stayed silent for a moment. Nivia gasped. "It was only once!" She explained quickly, turning in her chair "And it was after Robb and I married…He came up here to apologize to me…He said he loved me, and I told him I loved him…and then we kissed and then things fell into place! I just…I don't…Nivia, please don't say anything! Please, I beg you! I don't want Robb finding out! It'll break his heart and that is the last thing I want! Please!" She clutched onto Nivia's skirt, beginning to sob into the fabric.

She said nothing to her for a few moments. All she did was run her fingers through Dalia's hair. Finally, Nivia spoke: "You don't know this for certain. This child could very well be Robb's, since you two have been going at it like rabbits. Don't fret, dear sister. Everything will be alright." She kissed the top of Dalia's head. "Now, let's get you dressed. We can't have people suspecting anything," Nivia helped her to her feet, wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her cheeks.

"Thank you, Nivi."

They both hugged. "I am your sister, Dal. We take each other's secrets to the grave."


	21. Chapter 21: Gareth

Death stood in the room. Gareth felt him as he walked into the bedchamber. A single crack of light dimmed the room from the window, the fire lay in cold ashes, the candles covered their holders in dry wax, and the old, withered man on the bed coughed harshly into his napkin. The place reminded him of a dungeon; Death's dungeon. Gareth treaded inside quietly, shutting the door. Regardless, the sounds caught his father's attention.

It had been two months since they left Winterfell, and the trip took a toll on the old man. Loose skin hung from his chin behind his beard, liver spots dotted his hands, and his hair fell out off his scalp little by little. Gareth remembered a time where his father strutted around in his silver armor; Gareth and his brothers trailing after him for a day's training lesson. He always gave them words of advice. He acted as their master-at-arms. Who'd make a better teacher than the great Lord Kellen Mason?

"Father," Gareth said.

"Gareth…" He said wearily. "Where is Axel? I want to see Axel... and Fredrick…and Fiona and Flora…Where are my children Gareth?"

"They are on their way, Father."

Gareth sent word to his siblings that their lord father was finally passing. It pained him putting the words on the parchment over and over again. He hoped they would come.

"And Dalia, my sunshine…Such a beautiful girl, looks just like her mother." A knot built in Gareth's stomach as the old man babbled one. "She doesn't have the hair though, but the eyes. The nice green ones…Boys melt when they look into those eyes. I remember boys always came up asking for their hands. You turned them all away of course. Only certain men can handle Mason women. Like that Greyjoy boy. He'll never have control over our Nivia. She's too particular."

"I agree. Balon is asking for our ships on the east coast. I knew he'd ask for something. Why does he need so many ships anyway? He already has them."

"Greyjoys are never satisfied; they always ask for more and more. You give them a finger, they want the whole hand. That Iron Price thing. I'm surprised he hasn't burnt this place down by now." He said gruffly before coughing again. "Dalia is such a wonderful girl. Robb Stark is lucky to have her, though I think she'd rather have the Snow boy. He is a handsome fellow; looks like Ned. She always came to me for stories and the others too…Nivia, my sweet blossom, and Antonia, the little honey-bee. They all should know where they came from," He coughed, "There was one time where Dalia pushed Nivia into the pig pen, and Antonia tried getting her out before she fell in too…" He tried laughing, but only coughed, "And Dalia jumped in for the fun. They always loved each other. They will be good wives."

"And you told them they'd make good pigs too."

"They ate like them. I remember they'd steal tarts and cakes from the kitchen. I'd find them, but they'd already have eaten them all."

Gareth took a seat beside his father. "We need to discuss your will, Father."

"They reminded me of your sisters, Nivia and Antonia I mean. Dalia is like Cersei. I see it sometimes. She has that little lion inside her that comes out once in a while."

"I know Tower Hill is fully handed down to me, but Axel wants lordship over Littleton Square and the farms, and Fredrick is asking for the docks."

"I recall the day you brought Dalia home; abeautiful babe all wrapped in fur fast asleep in her wet nurse's arms. She hardly ever cried. I sometimes worried she might be dead with how soundlessly she slept."

"Fredrick has been managing the docks for years now, since you gave him a castle there for him and Sasha. The people in Littleton love Axel."

"Nivia though, she was a terrible baby. She always wailed and fussed in her crib all through the night and morning. It drove Sora insane. She never seemed contented with anything we gave her. I'm surprised Dalia did not strangle her."

"I believe we should give them that. I will write out the will for you and you will sign it."

"Antonia was the sweetest. She giggled every time someone tickled her or even smiled at her. Curious too. The wet nurse would sit her down on my solar floor and she'd start crawling all over like a bug. She loved honey: Honey tarts, cakes, biscuits, anything honey-glazed. That's why I started calling her honey-bee. I'd buzz at her and she'd laugh."

"Is there anything you'd want me to put down, Father? A last request?"

"Tell Dalia."

"Tell her what?"

He coughed, "Tell her who her true mother is; tell her everything when you see her again. Tell her how you fell in love and fucked Cersei Lannister." He coughed harshly. "She's such a good girl. Don't be like Stark. Let her know."

"Father, I…I cannot do that-"

"-Why not? You've beheaded, stabbed, hung and beaten people to a bloody pulp before, why should breaking news to a little girl be so tough?"

"Because you know Dalia. She'll hate me for not telling her sooner."

"Children never fully hate their parents. You remember how many times Fiona told me she hated me and never speak to me again? By the end of the night, she'd apologize and hug me."

"Dalia isn't Fiona. She…She might never forgive me. Especially once she finds out she is a Hill and not a Mason. Her marriage with Robb isn't a legitimate one; she could've married the Snow boy if she knew before."

"If you had told her…Instead you let her heart break and make her marry a man she hardly knew."

"She is fond of Robb."

"Fond is not the same as love. I was 'fond' of your mother, but I loved someone else. We can suppose she will eventually forget Jon. The boy is on his way to The Wall; only the gods know why. He's a young boy. He has a lot to live for: Girls, fighting, starting a family, girls. I'll never understand bastard boys. I mean, look at your brother's bastard, wha-what was his name? Grell? Gellen?"

"Grenn."

"Right, Grenn…stupid name. Then again, he is just a little farm boy and your brother had the sense not to keep him, unlike Eddard Stark…"

"I will not tell her," Gareth stood up from the chair. He was growing tired of this talk; he had letters needing sending. "She will never know about it. Cersei and I agreed to never speak about it again."

"But you did at Winterfell. I saw you two talking at the wedding feast. She wants Dalia. She wants to be with her firstborn child; the one you ripped away from her."

Gareth sighed deeply. His father had a knack for driving his patience. "Rest well, Father," He said turning back towards the door, "I will send Septa Nora to check on you."

His father did not reply, which surprised Gareth. Perhaps the rasping cough had something to do with it. Boots thumping on the wooden floors, the large man contemplated his father's words. There were many times in Dalia's childhood where he could have told her, but never did. She seemed perfectly happy without the knowledge, why disturb that? From what her last letter said, the baby in her belly would keep her busy. Entering his solar, he sat down at his desk, dipped the quill in an ink pot, and began writing.

The letters were written; the ravens flew past his window with their black wings contrasting with the grey skies. Gareth stayed at his desk. He stared down at the blank pages. The quill in his hand already dried up, he dunked it in the pot, but did not put the point on paper. He thought about Dalia. He imagined her face when he would tell her; he would tell her himself in person. This matter should be said face to face.

_"Dalia…"_

He would return to Winterfell.


	22. Chapter 22: Jon

Jon sat close to the campfire, wrapped up in his cloak. His eyes focused on the crackling, spitting flames. No winds blew, yet the cold stayed in the air. The closer The Wall came, the harsher the cold. The Wall stood a few more leagues away, but his uncle suggested they stop near Moles Town for new recruits. Jon did not mind; not because he enjoyed sitting in the cold around a small fire, but because only a few leagues stood between him and Winterfell. He knew how easy leaving would be; simply mounting his horse and never looking back …to Winterfell…To his little brother, Bran…To Robb…To Dalia. He thought about all of them as he sat there.

Nearby sat The Imp, Tyrion Lannister. Small with a head too large for his body, the man leaned up against a tree. His mismatched eyes went across the words in his books, his small legs underneath his cloak. Jon tried best in avoiding The Imp. Not because of what he was, but because the man spoke truths he did not like hearing. He remembered seeing him outside the feast, how he called him a bastard, and then said:

_'Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it could never be used to hurt you.'_

"Sit," A voice caught his attention, "You'll be fed."

Jon watched his uncle bring in two boys about Jon's age, wrists bound up in rope. He stared at them for a moment. Those are the type of men who will serve with him on The Wall. No honorable men served the Night's Watch anymore, only green boys, orphans, bastards and criminals. He remembered his uncle telling him stories about all the men in The Night's Watch, such as Lord Commander Mormont and Qhorin Halfhand; good, honorable men. The Wall seemed so wonderful; a noble thing Jon saw himself doing. Now, he considered turning back. Dalia waited for him. He knew she'd be there.

_'I love you, Jon Snow'_

"Ah, rapers," Tyrion's voice cut through his thoughts. "They were given a choice no doubt: Castration or The Wall. Most choose the knife." He returned to his book. Jon had begun thinking about Dalia when Tyrion broke in again: "Not impressed by your new brothers. Lovely thing about The Watch, you discard your old family and get a whole new one."

Jon then asked, "Why do you read so much?"

"Look at me and tell me what you see."

"Is this a trick?"

"What you see is a dwarf. If I had been born a peasant, they would have left me out in the woods to die. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Things are expected of me. My father was Hand of The King for twenty years-"

"-Until your brother killed that king," Jon said.

Tyrion stared at him for a moment, but Jon looked away. "Yes…until my brother killed him…" When Jon did not respond, he continued: "Life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king, and my repulsive nephew will be the one after him. I must do my part for the honor or my house, wouldn't you agree?" He turned to his book, "And what about you? What's your story, bastard?"

"Ask me nicely and I'll tell you, dwarf."

He snorted amused. "A bastard boy with nothing to inherit off to join the ancient order of The Night's Watch; alongside your valiant brothers in arms."

"The Night's Watch protects the realm-"

"-Yes, from grumpkins and snarks and all the monsters your wet nurse warned you about. You're a smart boy; you don't believe in that nonsense…You know, your story reminds me of another one. I read it a long time when I was a boy…"

"And what would story would that be?"

"The Tale of Demetrius and Angelina. You see, Demetrius was a peasant son of a shoemaker in The Vale; the only inheritance he had was his father's shoe shop and a few gold coins. One day he walked through the market square, buying leathers for his father when he saw the fairest woman in the world. She was a blooming maiden, bright, heart-melting and rosy-cheeked. They both ran into each other; once their eyes met, they fell in love. Only problem was she was a daughter of a high lord; promised to another."

"What happened?"

" The two star-crossed lovers ran away together and wed within a day. Everything was fine until one of her father's guards found them and brought them back. The Lord Protector of The Vale sent him to The Wall; Angelina wedded her betrothed. The two lovers stayed apart the rest of their lives, never to see one another ever again."

"What are you saying?"

"That whatever you and Dalia Mason have was bound to end sooner or later. You should do what Lord Mason did: Forget everything and move on."

Jon fully stared at him now, "Your meaning?"

"Lord Gareth Mason was never the most faithful man; it was what he and Robert had in common. During the war, I heard he was fucking girls from all over, spilling little bastards into their bellies like his father and grandfather before him. Of course, he denies the whole thing out of fear of losing respect, even though your father did the same and people still consider him noble."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Has very little to do with you, has a lot more to do with your precious Dalia." When Jon turned back to the fire, he went on: "Don't think I had not noticed. I saw you two talking on your way towards her bedchambers. She was positively glowing and you blushed like a maiden. Did you fuck her that night or before you left? Oh don't deny it. When a man is as in love with a woman as you were, you can't resist not feeling her. I don't blame you. I would've done the same," He smirked, "A lot of men would. She has a pretty face, beautiful smile, perfect teats, a nice pair of lips you just want wrapped around your-"

"-Don't talk about her that way, Imp," Jon snapped.

Tyrion grinned, "See what I mean? Anyways, Lord Mason was once in a situation like yours: In love with a woman he could never have; a woman completely out of his reach. He once said to me' Tyrion, your sister is the fairest woman in all of Westeros. The sun catches in her hair just right, roses envy the color of her cheeks, her smile eclipses pearls everywhere and her skin reminds me of white silk'. The man was absolutely in love with her, despite being promised to another."

"Your sister? The Queen?"

"Yes, the Queen. This was when they were both very young; during the war I believe. I don't have full details because Jamie and I were not allowed to witness the birthing."

"Birthing?" He hated being on edge like this.

"Dalia is not a true Mason. Seven hells, it wasn't meant to be her name. My sister wanted to name her Priscilla, but Gareth chose Dalia instead. Her real name would've been Priscilla _Hill_."

Jon remained stunned a few moments. "You're saying she is a…"

"Bastard like you? Yes."

"Then why did he…how…"

"My father had the witnesses killed; Gareth changed her name and told everyone in Tower Hill to keep their silence or he'd have their heads. If you know Masons, they never make empty threats."

Jon thought for a moment, and then said more to himself than Tyrion: "I could've married her. She isn't real nobility. Her marriage to Robb is…Why hadn't she told me?"

"Because she doesn't know either. I don't think she ever will, unless she figures it out. My father told my sister to keep her distance; never speak or see Dalia ever again. You can imagine how sad it must be having your first born so close, but not allowed contact. Haven't you noticed how alike the two of them are? Sometimes, in a certain like, she looks like my sister in her younger years, only with darker hair. I think the hair is what saves her."

Jon felt a small rage inside him. "If we had known…If she had known what she was, I wouldn't be here…I'd be with her…"

"But you are here, and she is there. While you're ranging beyond The Wall with your uncle, she'll be pushing a child out between her legs. Oh don't look so sullen, she is most likely pregnant by now. It only took my sister once. Likeliness of fertility usually hands down from mother-to-daughter…How many times did you have her?"

"Once," Jon saw no reason for lying. He felt no shame or regret. He loved Dalia. He knew that now. "It happened before I left. I touched her hand. I always avoided touching her, even if it was only her hand. The only time I did, it lead to me bedding her…"

"Do you feel guilty?"

"No." Jon said. "I thought I would. I don't. I regret nothing I did. I love her."

"Ah…Love. It's the one emotion people can't decide whether they like or hate. Everything in the world is so certain. When we're angry, we know how it feels. When we're sad, we sense it right away. When we're happy, we can tell and are absolutely certain why. Yet, with love, we never know anything. 'Do I love this person because my heart sings when I see them or because I want to fuck them? Does this person return my love? Will they ever, if they don't? Why can't I be with this person?' So many questions for such a small feeling, don't you agree?"

He stayed silent, and then said: "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because, surprisingly, I like you, Snow. My advice? Do what Demetrius did: Forget her. The faster you forget, the better off you'll be, or you'll spent the rest of your life with 'what if's and 'it could have been's."

"I should forget her. I can't have her now nor will I ever," Jon began, no longer staring at Tyrion but into the fire, "She's a married woman. She took her vows in front of The Old Gods. She exchanged those rings and became a Stark. The only way I'd have her was if Robb died and she could remarry. Even then she probably couldn't have me. Nobody wants their daughter marrying a bastard."

"Especially a man like Gareth Mason."

Jon did not know whether he hated Tyrion for telling the truth or grateful that he cared. As the company moved on, Jon thought about everything Tyrion told him. He imagined himself in front of The Heart Tree with her as he done several times. He pictured their children, their home, everything. Had they known she was no different from him, Jon would never have left. The moment he said his vows, Dalia will surely become out of his reach.


	23. Chapter 23: Dalia

**Hey guys! I just wanna give you all a big thank you for reading Reach. It's nice to know my writing's THIS good and that people like it. Seeing the alerts and favorites, and reading the reviews gives me inspiration to keep going (not to mention puts a little swagger in my step, but that's not why I do write.) **

**Also, a cool person named KyraJane made some fan-pictures for Out of Reach. I couldn't post them here because it wouldn't let me, so I have them posted on my profile instead: ** u/3066420/GigiPuff **  
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**Just take of the parentheses and you'll be good to go. Here's her page too, if you wanna check it out:** u/2682792/KyraJane

**If any of you guys wanna make any too, just send them to me and I'll credit you :) **

* * *

><p>'<em>And Angelina said unto him, 'Oh Demetrius, my dearest love! Is our love doomed like sailing ships in rough waters or dead like flowers in winter? I shall always cherish the moment when I first gazed into your eyes, but the Gods have parted us. If they permit, we will cross paths once more in the life after. There we may walk hand-in-hand as eternal lovers.'<em>

Dalia's eyes went across the parchment pages of the book. The story of Demetrius and Angelina had never been one of her favorites, but could not stopping reading once she started. She couldn't help not imaging Jon as the handsome Demetrius and herself as the fair Angelina. This story reflected theirs more than any other love story. All the others ended with the pair marrying and growing old. Demetrius and Angelina died without ever seeing each other again; just like her and Jon. He had gone to The Wall. He is travelling leagues away from her. She'll be like Angelina: Forever wondering about what could have been. She sometimes regretted kissing him. She regretted laying with him; only because she'll say to herself: 'I only had him once.'

She shut the book closed and placed it on the table beside her. Robb was in The Hall going about his lordly duties; she sat next to Bran's bed. The small boy lied still in underneath his furs. She frowned every time she looked on him. He reminded her so much of Mika; even down to the freckles on his face. She wondered if Lady Stark did this on purpose. She hated thinking of the same thing happening to Mika. Neither boy was fit for being bed-ridden. Robb told her Bran was a good climber; how he scaled up tall towers easily. He said it drove Lady Stark insane. Now, Bran would never climb again.

"Dalia," A voice said in the doorway.

Lady Stark stood in the doorway. At the beginning, the older woman seemed resentful towards her. She never said more than she must; her smiles were topped by cold eyes. The rumors about her and Jon spread thickly over Winterfell; some people found them hard to disbelieve. No doubt Lady Stark believed them. She hated Jon. Swallowing all those gossips gave her another reason to hate him. However, the woman had warmed up to her eventually. She spoke with a smile whenever Robb and Dalia were together. She assumed because the more time Dalia spent with Robb, the less she thought about Jon. Catelyn wore a dark blue travelling cloak, gloves and her hair braided down her back.

"Lady Stark-"

"-Please, you don't have to call me that anymore. You're a Stark now," She said, coming into the room. She took a seat beside Dalia; she watched Bran. "How is he?"

"The same," Dalia answered. "Maester Luwin says the worst is over, but I find that hard to believe."

"I feel the same. All we can do now is wait and hope," She said. A brief silence came between them, and then Catelyn spoke again: "I'm leaving to King's Landing."

Dalia turned her head. "For what purpose?"

"This morning I went up the tower where Bran had fallen," She started, "And I found a single golden hair on the floor. I have a feeling Bran did not fall from the tower. He is far too good a climber. He would never slip so easily. I think he was pushed."

She pieced it together herself. "You think the Lannisters had a part in this? Why? They have nothing against Bran. He's only a little boy."

"That man from the other night came here on someone's orders. Why? I believe because he saw something he should not have seen; whoever sent that man wanted him silenced for good. The knife he carried was too good a blade for a mere sellsword. I plan on going to King's Landing and finding Ned. He's the Hand of The King now. He can find out what I want to know."

"What if he can't help you?"

"He will help me. Bran is his son."

"But what if he can't? Really can't?"

"I have a friend also on the small council. He'll know something. He always used to know everything about everyone. He _will_ help me."

"Are you being accompanied?"

"Ser Rodrik will be coming with me. While I am gone, I want you watching over Bran for me."

"Me?"

"You are a lady of Winterfell," She explained. "Whatever duties expected of me are now appointed to you; one of them being taking care of Bran. Robb will need you more than ever; help him, guide him…love him."

Dalia took the hint. "I will. I love Robb more than anything. I'll do what I can to help him with whatever he asks."

"I'm glad. He loves you so much."

They smiled at one another. Dalia knew what she insinuated: That she should do her wifely responsibilities and put Jon aside. Sadly, Lady Stark did not understand how hard that would be. Dalia tried forgetting Jon. She knew the love died before it truly grew. She spent her nights staring into the fireplace; not thinking of Jon even though she wondered if he thought of her. He must have. He might become a black brother, but if he loved her, he wouldn't soon forget either. He loved her. She felt it when she stood next to him; his eyes told her so. A man's love can be found in his eyes.

"I know he does," She replied. "I love him as well."

Satisfied with the answer, Lady Stark stood. "I will be riding to King's Landing soon. You will write me when he wakes?"

"Of course," She said.

The two women stood together. For the first time, they embraced. Dalia could not recall Lady Stark acting tender. She said her goodbye and left the room. Dalia plopped back into her rocking chair, leaning back. She stared at Bran.

'_Lady of Winterfell._' She was a Stark; before she was a Lady of Tower Hill, the most beautiful place in all the north. Now, she lived in the cold, isolated castle of Winterfell. Her mother said she'd always be a Mason in her heart, but there were days she did not feel like a Mason. She felt more like a pumpkin in a cabbage patch. Back home, people treated her differently. Normally, all the servants gave her respect, yet some of them gave it with falseness. They smiled kindly and then turned their backs for whispers and gossip. When she questioned her grandfather, he said: _'My dear, servants always talk.'_

A second person walked into the room a little after Lady Stark. Nivia wore a navy blue woolen dress with her silver robes over it. Unlike Dalia, her younger sister looked beautiful no matter the time or day or what she wore.

"Father sent us a raven," Nivia said, handing her a small scroll.

"Good to see you too, Nivia. What is it about?"

She unrolled the letter and her eyes skimmed over the words. "He said he was coming back to Winterfell," Nivia told her, "He said it was something important, but didn't say what."

Dalia nodded. "Then I guess we should start making preparations for him. No doubt he's bringing men with him, and the ride from home is long, so they'll be hungry. Tell Old Nan to watch Bran." She slid off the rocking chair, "I have things to do."

"Shouldn't Lady Stark be taking care of this?" Nivia said, beginning to follow her out the door.

"Apparently, I am Lady Stark now."


	24. Chapter 24: Robb

His father's solar. A month passed since he last stood in the room. His father had been sitting in his chair, looking up at him concernedly. Would he ever see his father again? Most likely not. He left Winterfell for King's Landing; he left Robb in charge. He stepped quietly into the solar; Grey Wind trotted in behind him and settled by the fire. This place became his when his father rode away after his sisters. Robb never realized how much time his father spent in here until he started it became his own small quarters. Everywhere he turned, something needed care. Now, his mother hung her suspicions about the Lannisters and Bran's fall over his head. While she rode her way down towards King's Landing, Robb held everything…alone.

Though, not completely. Maester Luwin always stood nearby for assistance and guidance. He had Theon for brotherly support. Most of all, he had Dalia. When his mother left, Dalia took up all her responsibilities. She watched over Bran, she overlooked all house work; she took care of whatever guests came to the castle, and also cared for the child growing inside her. Dalia's belly swelled some during the last few months. He loved knowing she would be birthing his child. Not many men could say they married a Mason girl.

Robb stood by the open solar window. He could see all of Winterfell from the tower; he had a perfect view of everything. Everybody busied themselves with preparations for their oncoming guests. It reminded him immediately of the meeting with Gareth Mason. He hadn't told Dalia what her father wrote him; his wife had other things to worry about. Though he felt inclined to do so. She was the Lady of Winterfell now that his mother left; she deserved to know.

_'Wildlings have been crossing The Wall through Eastwatch-by-the-sea. I've been told they have gone completely unnoticed and march through the north east. My sons hold back whatever bands we find, but those we have questioned say more are coming. We must prepare. We will speak in Winterfell.'_

Robb never knew Wildlings as a problem. The Night's Watch did well to keep them back. The Wall itself was impregnable, as his uncle Benjen told him. Lord Mason's letter came first, but not the last. Soon after, reports from The Wall came as well. They kept finding tunnels where the wildlings dug or passages were created. Many of his father's men said The Night's Watch should be held responsible for this sudden outbreak. Anything beyond The Wall was their chief concern. If they cannot hold The Wall, what purpose did it serve? No doubt Lord Mason will want to talk about setting up perimeters and having more men combing the woodlands for them. What if that did not work? The only people who truly understood wildlings were the watchmen. Robb needed to write Lord Commander Mormont immediately.

Just as he settled into the chair, he heard someone come in.

"Dalia," He said, pulling some papers his way, "Morning."

"Morning, my love," She said. She rounded the desk and bended for a kiss. Instead of a sweet peck, Robb deepened it for a minute. She giggled when he pulled away, "I suppose you missed me?"

"Of course." He held her hands, staring up at her. "What brings you up here?"

"My father's coming today," She said. It had been two weeks since the ravens arrived. "He should be arriving close to dusk."

"I know. I remember quite clearly surprisingly."

They shared a laugh. "You are a part of my family just as I am yours. This little celebration we're having-"

"-You mean you're having. I had no hand in the preparations. I merely provided the coin." He turned away from her towards the papers on his desk.

"Whatever you believe, this is being held in our home. He's my father and he's going to expect things out of you. He'll test you on your lordship abilities. Believe it or not, he still sees you as a little boy. I told him you've been a perfectly good lord, but he never believes anything until he sees it himself."

"Oh, are you worried your big bad father's going to hurt my feelings?" He stared at her over his shoulder.

She giggled, "I'm more worried about him drinking our wine stores dry…I'm only warning you."

"I was under the impression he was coming for you mostly," He said, dipping a quill into an inkpot. "The message had been addressed to you."

"Yes. I still don't know what is so important he must come back down here? Why couldn't he have put it down in the letter?" She left his side and began wandering about the room.

"It certainly isn't about the wildlings."

"What? What wildlings?"

"Your father's raven told me they have been raiding villages and attacking castles, of course, the castles defeat them easily, but the villages are sacked all the time. He told me the little square your uncle owns only barely survived. He's coming here to talk with me about it."

"Shouldn't that be settled with Lord Mormont?' She asked.

"One of your uncles is on his way to The Wall now. Apparently, these matters cannot be settled through ravens."

"It's too dangerous. The wildlings might be savages, but they aren't stupid."

"You mean?"

"If I were them," She said, "I'd set up camps in between castles, which is easy enough, so if I spotted any ravens going from one to the other, I can have someone shoot them down. If you block off communication, they can't warn each other."

"But if you ride out, they can't stop you."

"Exactly."

"I always did wonder how the direwolf got south of The Wall," He said.

"It must have gone through a tunnel or something." She crossed her arms, "What are you planning to do about this?"

"I don't know yet. We have plenty of men to protect Winterfell, but what of the smaller villages? Torrhen's Square? Mole's Town? We would need men there too."

She hesitated, and then said: "Why not ask Mormont to send some of his men over to the villages? Not too many men, only a spare few who can fight in case wildlings did attack. We'll even put in some of our own if too many approach."

Robb sensed something in his wife. He stared into her eyes. Hope. That was what he saw: The hope that Jon might be one of those few spare men; the hope she might see him again. A little monster in his lifted its head from a slumber. He did not know if he could handle that a second time: Seeing them always together, hearing all the stories and having these terrible thoughts in his head. He never hated Jon before. Not too long ago, the prospect of having Jon near would have made Robb happy. Now, he only saw Dalia wrapped tightly in Jon's arms. _Jon's arms._ Not his.

"Mormont can't take a risk like that. The Night's Watch has too few men as it is. They can't give us men for every single village."

"Not for all the villages, just ones out of castle reach; the smaller ones people overlook. They are the biggest targets for raiders because it's easier to sack them. If there are Watchmen guarding the place, people might feel better. Plus, I think the men would like being away from that bloody block of ice. Perhaps some can station themselves here…"

"They'll go to the villages, where they will be needed. Winterfell has its own men to defend it. They wouldn't dare invade Winterfell either way."

She felt the seriousness in his voice. Guilt cut through him when he saw the hurt in her eyes. He expected her to say something about it, but she didn't. Instead she said: "I must go attend to preparations now. My father should be here by nightfall."

"Dalia…" He attempted calling her back, but she ignored him.

He sighed, watching her figure disappear through the door. Robb should trust her. Dalia would never betray him, no matter what his mother said. He stared down at the blank pieces of parchment, and began writing.

The sun turned the sky a deep orange and red color as day turned to dusk. Robb sat in his hall along with Rickon, Dalia and Maester Luwin. He sent Theon to the gate to receive Lord Mason and his guard, so all Robb had to do was wait. He thought he'd be nervous seeing the large man again, but instead felt strangely calm. Gareth Mason was not coming to kill him, only to have words. He dressed up as best as he could: Black boiled leather vest with his wool tunic and breeches, his fox fur cloak hanging off his shoulders. Dalia dressed modestly in a navy blue woolen dress trimmed with silver, her wedding ring glinting on her finger. He took that hand in his, merely holding it for a moment.

She grinned at him.

"Announcing Lord Gareth Mason!" A man said at the door, "Second of his name, Lord of Tower Hill, Littleton Square, and Winter Docks."

Gareth Mason entered into the room followed by a small guard. His boots thudding on the floor, he stopped and stared at Robb.

"Father!" Two girls cried out in unison.

Dalia and Nivia cared not for formalities. They brought their father into a tight embrace. Robb suppressed the smile his face nearly curled watching Dalia beam up at her father. Lord Mason gave a hearty laugh as he hugged both his daughters, kissing each of their foreheads.

"Well, look at you both!" He grinned, "Absolutely glowing now with those babes in you."

They both laughed, telling him how they missed him. They began questioning him about home, but he only raised his hands for silence. "We shall talk later on. It's him I will speak with first."

Something in Lord Mason's eyes seemed threatening; challenging, as if Robb was about to be taught a lesson. Dalia told him her father thought he was only a little boy in charge of a big castle.

"Lord Mason," Robb said, "I'm glad to welcome you back into our halls. I trust your trip was well."

"It was. A short trip, but an easy one," He said, leaving his two daughters behind him. The room fell silent as the surrounding servants stared between the two lords. "And you know why I took the trip down here, Stark."

"Indeed I do," Robb nodded curtly, "From what I've heard from other lords, the wildlings have gone out of control."

"They have: Raiding the villages, stealing daughters, and burning down homes. They even attempted to seize both my brothers' castles and my docks. Of course, their undisciplined and unorganized strategies made it easy to thwart them…until they grew smarter."

"Smarter?"

"They stopped attacking us during the day like before. They have their little spearwives sneak into castles or inns dressed as commonfolk, and just when we're all asleep, they start cutting throats and letting their own people inside. I lost fifty or so men just a few nights ago. If it's not that, they camp in between towns and castles and move constantly from one place to another. They hide up in trees or in shrubs when men pass, and then ambush them. I thought after a while they'd all stop once we tore down their numbers, but these savages multiply like rabbits.

"My father has already been in touch with Lord Mormont, who says they're catching the bodies of fallen wildlings more often than ever. Whatever they're running from has them scattering towards The Wall. Surely you've noticed the low amount of game in the woods? Yes, they're hunting down all the food the villagers could be feeding themselves with, and my brother says the crowds are becoming rowdier," He sighed. "Something must be done about these savages, Lord Stark. We cannot let them continue on like this, especially with winter drawing nearer every day."

Robb thought, and then said: "I wish I could spare the men, Lord Mason, but sadly I cannot. I can send a few towards Torrhen's Square, and the other lords can send whatever they can to cover their own lands. Even then, we will all be stretched."

"They've all done that. It worked well until last night, from what I heard. These wildlings…Something has them fleeing, Robb. My sons have been telling me it's The Others," He grinned amusedly, "But Lord Mormont and The Night's Watch have no clue as to what they could be running from, if they are running from anything at all. Mormont thinks it might be other village survivors up north…These wildlings attack even their own."

"Because they're a bunch of filthy savages, that's why" Nivia said coldly, crossing her arms underneath her chest.

"Robb," Dalia spoke up, stepping forward, "I'm sure Lord Mormont might be willing to send you some men."

"The Night's Watch has few men as it is," Robb replied. "I cannot force men away from him."

"Then give him the criminals we have in the dungeons. Ask every lord to give whatever outlaws they find or have imprisoned over to The Watch in exchange for watchmen. I'm sure they must have some who are willing to come."

"It'll be mostly green boys with hardly any experience, Dalia," Lord Mason said. "They would need trai-"

"-We can train them here. They can bring an experienced man with them to train them or the lord can have a master-at-arms teach them. It'll be no different than when Ser Rodrik taught you and Jon."

Robb saw it again. He spotted that familiar hope and plea in her eyes. He tried believing her passion was for the northern folk, but something said different. He restrained his hands from making fists.

"We can't do that Dalia."

"And why not? The black brothers will know more about the wildlings than we will. They'll know their tactics and their strategies. They'll know how to make them go away."

"These are people we're discussing, sweetling," Lord Mason said, "Not insects inside a house."

"Well they might as well be," Dalia turned to him. "Who do they think they are, anyway? What kind of person just runs onto someone's lands and terrorizes everyone? Someone has to stop them, and we can't do it ourselves, so why not ask for their help? Grandfather has known Lord Mormont for years, and The Masons and The Stark have manned The Wall for thousands of years. Why wouldn't he help us?"

"Because they have bigger issue-"Robb began,

"The wildlings _are_ their issue, Robb," Dalia looked back to him. "We must ask for their help, at least ask. Robb…we need them…"

'_I need him_' He could almost hear her say.

"I will sleep on it," Robb stood before Dalia could protest. "I shall tell you my decision in the morning, if that suits you all. Dalia has had rooms prepared for you and your company, Lord Mason."

"Robb," Dalia said, "Please, it'll-"

"-I already said I shall give you an answer in the morning. Last I remembered I was discussing this with your father, not you."

Dalia tried speaking again, but Gareth's hand steadied her, "He's right, Dal. This matter is no concern for a wife."

"And why shouldn't it be? This land is just as much mine now as it is his. I'm a Lady of Winterfell; I believe I have some say-"

"-You do," Robb cut in firmly, "And you have. Now enough."

Lord Mason smirked, "Already taking the piss out of you isn't she Robb?"

He hid his irritation at her. The couple stared at one another. She was full to the brim with statements and ideas. Robb wanted to believe she wanted this for the right reason. Dalia was a kind hearted woman. Unfortunately, thoughts of her and Jon crept back into his head. Fixing his cloak, he gestured for servants to show the men towards the feasting hall, which made Lord Mason more than happy to leave. Dalia stayed behind. She stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her bump. She wore a lovely wool dress with this intricate floral pattern on the light blue under layer, while the over layer was a bold navy blue. Even in flustered heat, she looked beautiful.

"I sometimes wish you weren't so out spoken," He said, walking towards her as the room emptied. "Then I would have fewer headaches."

He took her hand gently in his, placing a kiss on her knuckles. His tenderness did not soften her. "Why do you really not want their help?"

Robb sighed, "Dalia…"

"Is it because of Jon? Is it because you think I'm only asking because I want to see him?"

"Can we not talk about this here?"

"Well, you're wrong. I actually care about the people you rule over. Did you know two children came rolling in on a cart the other day? Yes, a little boy and girl. They said their village had been attacked. They told me their father had been beaten to death and then hung up in front of their house, and the older boy said a group of men raped their mother before hanging her up too. They were so terrified, Robb. The man driving the cart said the girl shrieked when he got close to her. These people have to be stopped before they do the same to someone else's parents…I feel the Night's Watch could help us."

"You're right," He brought her closer, lifting her chin up, "They must be, but for right now, let us go into the hall with your father and his men, and enjoy our supper together."

He kissed her lips gently before taking her into the hall. Perhaps he had been wrong. He should have known better. Dalia loved him. She loved him. She said so in their vows…in front of The Heart Tree.

'_And no man can lie in front to the gods…'_


	25. Chapter 25: Dalia

_"My lady! My lady!" Maester Luwin rushed towards her outside the stables._

_"Maester Luwin? What has happened?" The urgency in his eyes did not bode well. _

_"You must come see this."_

_He led her back towards the front gates. There stood a burly mustached man with a large wagon carrying bundles of hay and horse feed. Dalia wondered why horse feed was such a big concern until she noticed something else sitting on the wagon. Two children sat against the hay stacks. The boy kept his arm wrapped around his weeping sister, shielding her from the group of adults surrounding them. _

_"Lady Stark," The man greeted. The crowd separated when she came close. _

_"What has happened?" She asked again. _

_"My lady, this is Willas Mayhue," Maester Luwin introduced, "He works for your husband in the stables."_

_"It's awful, milady," He shook his head, "Absolutely awful. Women was crying, men was tossing water on the fires, and little children clingin' tae their mothers, they was."He began elaborating," Ya see, milady, I was ridin' back from Torrhen's Square- mindin' me own business and what have you - when I went crossing down the backways- to avoid outlaws and other baddies – and I always go down Middleton. Well, Middleton's Inn, The Dancing Raven, has some of the best ale this side of The North, you see, and I always see meself a pint when I goes through. But today, milady, today was horrible. I was goin' down the road when I saws smoke and heard screamin' comin' from the village. I goes to see what's what like any good man would do. I then see the place all up in flame and ruin."_

_"Do you know who did this? Did you see them?"_

_"'Fraid not, milady. A shopkeepa told me it was 'em wildlings that had done it; says they came right through and started stealing, pillagin' and rapin'. Some they just outright done with, but others they took time tae string up like they was rabbits in a window. I thought 'I's better go back and tell milady or milord straight aways'."_

_"And the children?"_

_"Found 'em on ma way here. Little boy said they was runnin' from a big fella with an axe. The boy told me they mother was raped by some of those savages and they father was beaten tae death. Don't you go worryin' tho' milady, I got 'im. Ma own father taught me how tae use an axe," He patted the bloodied axe on his hip. He chuckled a little, "But this boy," He turned briefly to the little boy, "He's got some fight in 'im, he does. The savage's face was all bruised and cut when I got tae 'im."_

_Dalia came closer to the children. The boy held his sister tightly now, her face buried in his shoulder to where Dalia only saw a mop of blonde hair. "Is this true?"_

_"I was…I was just protectin' my sister, milady." _

_"It's alright," She said to them, "You did what any big brother would do." She addressed the boy first, "What's your name?" _

_"Tobias, milady," He answered. He could not have been over one-and-ten with pitch black hair and light blue eyes. "Tobias Snow. This is my half-sister, Linnie Greenwood."_

_"It's nice to meet you both," She said. "Can you tell me who the man was chasing you? What did he look like?"_

_"He was really big," Tobias replied, extending one arm from Linnie, "And tall. He was wearin' all these furs and leathers; he was chasin' us sayin' he was gonna steal my sister after he was done killin' me. I tried fightin' him off with this big stick I found; I woulda gotten 'im too if Willas hadn't found us."_

_The image made her cringe slightly, but she hid it. "Well, it's a good thing Willas came in time, huh?"_

_"Aye it was," Tobias said. "He said wes be safe 'ere in Winterfell with you and the lord."_

_"And you will be. Ygraine," She called to a washerwoman standing nearby, "See that these two are fed and bathed; find some bed for them to sleep in as well." Dalia watched the woman come towards them. Tobias whispered to his sister everything was alright and they were safe now. The boy reminded her of Thorin. His eyes were even the same shade; his narrow nose and his cheekbones were like…_

_Thorin…Her brother stood six-and-twenty; Tobias was ten years younger. She remembered Thorin always going off on travels to the villages; the gossipers said he had a lover in an Inn called…The Dancing Raven… If she was right, Tobias could be her nephew. He definitely had the Mason strength and bravery. How many little boys can say they tried taking on a grown man? _

_"Milady, if this be any help," Willas said, "The man chasin' 'em had a black hand."_

_"A black hand?"_

_"Aye, all charred up and burnt. If I 'ear it right, there's a clan down south, callin' 'emselves, The Black Hand Clan. They go into villages like Middleton and raid from time to time for food and whatnot."_

_"But, hill tribes never come up north," Maester Luwin said, "They stay close to The Vale."_

_"Just tellin' ya what I saws. I woulda cut it off for ye, but the children watchin' nearby, well, you saw the little one."_

_"That's good, Willas. Thank you for coming to us with this," Dalia said, "And for saving the children."_

_"Just doin' ma civic duty, milady." He tipped his hat and moved on. _

_"This very strange," Dalia said to Maester Luwin on their way back to the castle, "Wildlings south of The Wall. How is that possible?"_

_"Wildlings are known to crawl through tunnels underneath," He said, strolling beside her to the castle, "Or go around Eastwatch unseen, though seldom make it past."_

_"But whole clans? It couldn't have been wildlings…This Black Hand Clan, have you heard of them before?"_

_"Once many years ago," He said. "I don't know much of their culture as many people, but from what has been said, when a boy comes of age, they tar his hand and stick it in a fire."_

_She gasped, "What happens if they don't do it?"_

_"They are considered something of an outcast…But, this should not be the concern. This particular raider could be one of these outcasts. Wildlings don't hold allegiances, hence why they call themselves Free-Folk."_

_"Savage folk is more like it," Dalia said gruffly. "The children…Tobias and Linnie…I want them to live in the castle with me and Robb."When he gave her a questionable look, she stopped and came close, "I think Tobias is my nephew…"_

_"What would make you think so?"_

_"He just…He looks like Thorin…and my brother did have a common woman as his lover…I mean, this could all be coincidental. What do you think? What should I do?"_

_He thought for a moment, "It could be possible. I have heard the rumors about your brother before. He certainly does look like him and your own father. He has the northern baseborn name. We'll keep an eye on him for now. Robb won't object to them living in Winterfell. We'll give them a task to do as a cover until we sort this out." _

Dalia stared down at her food. She occasionally glanced towards her father at the far side of the feasting table. He drank heartedly and ate heavily like he always did. She wondered why was he didn't end up the size of a whale. Perhaps training in the practice yard alongside her brothers all day could be a contributing factor. Dalia found eating difficult considering all the worries she had now. If little Tobias and Linnie were not enough, her father's reason for being here loomed over her. Yes, discussing the wildling problem is a good cover, but she knew her father. He would not have sent her a separate letter if he came for words with Robb. Behind all the smiles, laughs and cheers, she saw something else. Her father did not seem himself despite his efforts. She forced herself to eat on the count of Nivia nagging her.

After the dinner, Dalia bathed and pulled a robe around her. Robb sat up in bed with a pitcher of wine next to their bed when she arrived, opening his eyes and grinning. She could see the buzz he was under. This was the best time than any other. Slowly, Dalia let the robe fall around her feet beside the bed. Robb set his cup down, brought her into his arms and began passionately kissing her. His lips planted kisses on her neck and shoulder.

"Robb?" She said.

"Yes?" He rested her on her back and propped himself up beside her.

"Remember those two children I told you about? The ones from the village nearby?"

"Yes, what of them?"

"Well, Maester Luwin and I…we couldn't find anyone to take them in and I did not feel right sending them back outside the gates, so I decided that they could maybe live here with us," She shifted her eyes over to him. "The little boy said his father was training him to be a blacksmith, and his sister is quite good around the kitchen. They wouldn't be any bother to us at all, I promise. I'll make sure they're fed myself and that they-"

Robb chuckled in the middle of her explanation, "Did you think I was going to deny two children living here in Winterfell?"

"Well, I'd rather ask instead of saying, 'Listen Robb, we have two children here and we're keeping them whether you like it or not.' I don't like keeping secrets from you. I think there have been enough rumors and assumptions floating around; we don't need anymore."

"No we don't," He said. He resumed kissing her before she broke away.

"Have you thought about what my father said? What I suggested?"

"I told you, Dalia," He kissed her, "I'll think about-"

"-Then think about it now," She told him. "The longer you wait the more villagers we'll see walking through our gates. Two children is one thing, but whole towns? Winterfell can only hold so many, Robb. We can sit here and draw up plans, but those wildlings or hill tribes or whatever they are will continue terrorizing everyone. Their numbers will keep on rising and people will be hurt."

"My father said five-hundred men could hold up Winterfell against full armies. These wildlings are not armies; only bands of people with axes and rusty swords."

"Wildlings are not fools, Robb. You should never underestimate an enemy. The Night's Watch knows more about these people than we do. We could use men like them. Winterfell can hold them off surely; you can make them flee back to their camps, but they'll return a few days later with a new strategy. It's like my father said, they have ways of sneaking in here."

"Like those two children? Do you suppose they're actually wildling children sent in here to spy on us," He japed. "Oh yes, the little boy is a wildling spy who is a master swordsman able to take down full armies of men, while the girl slits your throat in your sleep."

"I'm serious Robb. We need them."

"You mean you need him."

She hesitated and sat up, "What do you mean?"

"Jon…He's the real reason you want them here," Drunkenness became extremely apparent now.

"When did this come up? We're talking about wildlings, not Jon," She said.

"But you want the Night's Watch here so you can be next to your precious Jon," He said. He rested against the pillows and took up his cup again. "Don't think I didn't notice how eagerly you suggested it. That little bit of hope in your eyes that you'll see him come riding through the gates, coming here to whisk you away from me towards Castle Black where you can live out the rest of your lives together with that bastard you have in you."

"Robb! You know I've never done anything with-"

"-So you say. I'll bet a million gold dragons if I asked around enough they'll tell me about how he went into your room and plowed his way into you right after I did," He sneered. He poured more when his cup became empty, "You know, I never thought Jon had it in him…or was it you that pursued him? You wouldn't be the first that's trailed after him."

"Robb, stop it. You know none of that is true. I told you why I suggested they come here," She said to him.

"Yes, yes, because you want to take care of our people and do the right thing and be a good lady of Winterfell. All to cover up what you really are. What is it they call you? Oh I remember, The Whore of Winterfell-"

She slapped him. Her hand flew across his face harshly. The cup fell to the floor with the force of the hit. She did not give him a moment to retort; she picked up her robe, tied it around her waist and left the room. Tears fell down her cheeks as she moved down the corridor. How could he just assume such things? Indeed, there was a chance she'd see Jon again, but it was highly unlikely. He was still training for it. She doubted Lord Mormont would allow a trainee to leave Castle Black. She cared more about the people than she did for Jon. Their love was dead; there was no use hoping for life after death.

Dalia walked across the courtyard towards the library tower. Once in its threshold, she went to the very top. The library tower was seldom used at night. If anyone needed solitude, the library tower suited finely. She lit the fire herself, and then plopped into a chair. In her hastiness, she hadn't grabbed anything more than her robe, leaving the winds to flow underneath. She sobbed quietly to herself.

"Milady?" A small voice said.

She jumped in her seat. Tobias edged out of the darkness holding a candle. Changed out of the rags, his new clothes were stained with charcoal and dirt. She wiped the tears from her face and held her robe closed.

"Tobias, what are you doing up here?"

"Could ask you the same question," He said. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not entirely sure why I cry anymore. My mother said she was the same when she had a baby," She answered. She patted the seat beside her and the boy took it. "Shouldn't you be in bed? Where is your sister?"

"I put her tae bed already. Igraine got us some cots underneath the kitchen. She really likes it there. She used to help my mother all the time. She likes mixin' up batter and kneadin' bread and all that."

"I'm glad you're both happy. I heard Maester Luwin put you in with the smithy?"

"Aye. Artie's been real nice to me. He's been havin' me put coal in the fire and polish the new armor before takin' it to the armory. It's nothin' new though. My father had me doin' the same before he…He was always getting' me to help. I wasn't even his and he was good to…" His voice faded as he lowered his head. "He loved us, me and my sister I mean. He protected us when those men came. He told us tae take a horse and go."

"I don't doubt it," She said. She came closer to him, taking his hand in hers. "You know, I had someone who loved me too."

"Of course, everybody loves pretty highborn ladies like you."

She grinned, sniffling away her tears slightly, "I meant someone like your father. He cared about me very much, and I wasn't his to have. He showed me that I'm lucky to have someone who loves me, because there are people out there who have nobody to love them. You and Linnie are some of those lucky ones. You had a mother and father who loved you more than anything else. They made sure you were out of harm's way when the wildlings invaded. They put themselves in the way for you. Your father loved you."

"He wasn't my real father though. He didn't treat me any different than Linnie and he knew I wasn't his. My father wasn't there when it happened. My real father, at least."

She paused, and then said: "What do you know about him? Your real father?"

"Not much. He came by sometimes when he could."

"He did?"

He nodded, "My mother told me he's a highborn lord, so we're not allowed tae live with him. He comes by sometimes and gives her money tae take care of me and Linnie. They really love each other. She didn't say it, but I could tell they did."

"And what did Linnie's father think about that?"

"He hated it. My father always came when he went to the coast tae sell the things he made. He stayed for a little bit, but then he'd leave again." He stayed quiet, then asked timidly, "Do you think you can find him, milady? Do you think he'd come get me and Linnie so we could live with him?"

"Where does he live?"

"At Tower Hill. He's one of the lord's guards but he comes from a highborn family. His name's Thorin."

She hitched a breath. She stared into the boy's eyes for some time, studying him. Her suspicions were finally answered. Everything she believed was true. Did her father know about this? Had he been the reason little Tobias could not live in Tower Hill?

"Thorin Mason, you mean?"

"Aye! Do you know him? Are you a friend of his? Can you talk to him for us? I swears I'll pay money if you want for the trouble. I promise right now."

She chuckled, "Tobias, sweetling, I know your father very well believe it or not. You look a lot like him. The resemblance between you both is incredible actually: The same eyes and hair. You definitely act like a Mason."

"How do you know him?"

She hesitated. Should she tell him? It was far too soon. Hearing the woman taking you in is actually your aunt after you watched your parents be killed and then chased through the woods by a man holding an axe might be too much.

"I'm good friends with him. We grew up together at Tower Hill," She said to him. "I know he'd take you in the minute he finds out. Once I tell him what happened, he will come get you."

"And what if he doesn't want us?"

"Then I'll keep you both here with me. I'll take care of you. Always."

She kissed the top of his forehead. She put out the fire, and led Tobias back to the kitchens. Once ushering him to his basement room, Dalia went back into the main castle. Not wanting to face Robb, Dalia slept on the chair in Bran's room. Drifting to sleep, she thought about her own child and his real father. She was sure it was Robb. He had her first.

But what if he wasn't?


	26. Chapter 26: Gareth

Once during his youth, his mother told him if he prayed to The Gods for strength he shall receive it. She said if he prayed for courage, he shall receive it. She said many things about the Gods. Gareth learned after Robert's Rebellion praying was for fools and The Gods were monsters. He never stepped into the godswood again. Dalia's wedding had been the last time. His boots crunching down on the fallen leaves, his boiled leather doublet, tunic and wool breeches keeping his warm from the summer chills, Gareth walked towards the murky pool. The godswood in Tower Hill had no pool, only a circle of stone benches and walls. He strolled towards the center, staring up at the tall weirwood tree. Its white bark resembled the cold summer snows broken by cracks of hard ground. The leaves trembled like the bloody shaking hands of a dead man, and the face of the tree cried as Cersei did the night Dalia left her arms.

Dalia. The oldest of his daughters and the only one who was her mother…her real mother. Dalia wasn't an eagle. She did not soar over her enemies like the rest of his children. She pounces; she scratches and claws enemies. She resembled Cersei so much when she yelled or screamed. The fire in her eyes and the roar in her voice reminded him of her. Even how she sat, with her long curls trailing her back and hands folded over one another, was Cersei.

"Dalia…"

She turned and smiled. "Father, what are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you, sweetling," He took a seat beside her. "How's my grandson?"

She smiled, "Growing well. Maester Luwin says he'll be a very healthy boy…or girl…"

"It'll be a boy. Masons always have boys first."

"Aunt Fiona had a girl."

"Well, she's different," He said, sharing a chuckle with her. When he looked back up at The Heart tree, he spoke, "Your grandmother always sat in our godswood when trouble was near. She said the Gods bring comfort for her. I believed it was the only time I saw her calm. Before any of you were born, she definitely had the Bolton spirit. You could not tell her anything without her throwing something at you. We all thought she might calm down once Fiona and Flora were born, but when your grandfather had that bastard boy, she became worse. Axel says it's something of a blessing that I built that tower near the godswood. It shuts her up."

"Sounds like our cousin. Aunt Flora says she's practically a lion."

"Her father is a Lannister," Her father shrugged.

"Oh Father, not all Lannisters are terrible. The Queen was kind to me."

"She's…The Queen can be kind when she wishes. She was only that way to you because-"

"-Father? Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Have you ever heard of a little boy named Tobias?"

He turned his head her way, staring at her in disbelief. "How do you know about Tobias?"

"He came to the front gates with his little sister. Middleton had been invaded and they were brought here. He's our smithy's apprentice and his sister's helping in our kitchen. I assumed because he looks like Thorin so much, and he even behaves like him. He finally told me last night when I asked him. I was considering writing to Thorin so he knows or perhaps you can-"

"-No."

"No?"

"You know our way."

"But Father, if Mother knew she'd understand and would not mind having another little boy around the tower; Mika can finally play with someone his own age. One little boy isn't going to do any harm to our name. People don't even have to know he's Thorin's-"

"-I said 'no', Dalia."

"I don't think it's your place to decide. He's Thorin's son, and he's going to be inheriting Tower Hill someday. Surely, he'll want one of his only real sons with him when it happens. I know Thorin loves him, Father. Tobias said he'd come and visit their mother-"

"-No, Dalia. We don't keep them at home."

"Shouldn't we? What if there are others who are homeless or orphans now? Why can't we-"

"-Because we don't! Your mother nearly killed me the first time it happened! I promised her never again!"

Everything stood silent. "What do you mean?"

Gareth wasn't there. His mind left his body for another place. He saw The Trident. He spotted Rhaegar Targaryen's armies lined right across on their horses. The horses' hooves buried into the water that ran through in near silence. Gareth breathed as his fingers flexed around his axe. A shaking urge took over him, not overcome by his shallow breaths. The eyes of all his enemies focused on him, as equally angry and scared as he was. He imagined their swords and axes slashing through his body as easily as his could.

"Father," Dalia called again.

"You are not a Mason."

Her quietness reminded him of the stillness of the battle. The wait seemed like ages. "What? I'm not a…I'm not yours?"

"You are mine…Sora is not your mother. She never pushed you into the world, and Maester Griffyn never pulled you out. You were not even born in The North."

She stood up abruptly. The small rage tumbled in with her shock. Instead of facing him, she turned her back. "I don't understand. Do you mean to tell me that Sora Tyrell is not my mother? The woman who raised me never…"

"I lied with another woman; someone I should have stayed away from. I had been in Casterly Rock during Robert's Rebellion. Your grandfather and Lord Tywin were making plans to sack King's Landing. It was there that I met your mother. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world; someone I wanted all to myself. Of course, she wanted nothing to do with me in the beginning. She ignored all my advances. I was invisible. Then one day, we were alone in her bedchambers. We were talking over wine and supper, and then suddenly…"

"You fucked her," She spat out.

"Yes. I was in King's Landing when you were born. When I and your grandfather returned, there you were in her arms. You were this small bundle with beautiful green eyes. She wanted to keep you. She begged Lord Tywin over and over, but all he did was pull you from her arms. I took you home." He rose from the bench. Gareth came over and touched her shoulders. "Please forgive me, Dalia. I know I should have told you before. I could not face the truth…but I can now."

"You lied to me. You all lied to me," The rage turned in her, "You made me believe I was this highborn lady with all these ridiculous lessons about singing, playing the harp, and dancing and being a mother. You kept the truth from me…Who is my mother if not Sora?" She spun around to him. The little lion Cersei gave hit one of his shoulders, "Why didn't you tell me before? Why did you wait so long? Do you understand that things could be different?"

"Cersei Lannister!" The name echoed all around. "Cersei Lannister is your mother."

She stopped hitting and screaming at him. The green in her eyes gleamed in the summer winter sun. "She's…She's my…"

"She was kind to you because she was your mother. She hadn't seen you in seventeen years. I told her she must stay away, but she insisted on coming to the wedding. She even convinced Robert Ned would be a great Hand of the King. She only wanted you."

"So my name isn't Dalia Mason? It's Dalia Snow?"

"No, Hill. You were born and named in the Westerlands. She wanted to name you Priscilla, but I named you Dalia because it was my great-aunt's name. It'll make a better cover if you had a full Mason name."

"So, I'm a bastard? I'm a bastard married to a noble, pure-blooded, true son of Ned Stark?"

He sighed, "Yes. If people knew the Queen mothered a bastard child, she very well wouldn't be queen anymore. Ned and I thought nobody would know if you married-"

"-I didn't even want to marry Robb!" She said, "I didn't love him! I loved Jon! Jon Snow! A bastard boy from the North! I could have married him if you had told me! If you had treated me like I was a Hill instead of a Mason we wouldn't had to worry about people knowing! I could have said my vows to him underneath this tree! He could have been mine! I could have been his!" Gareth saw tears fall when she shut her eyes. "I loved him, Father."

"Dalia…Please, understand: Cersei was becoming a queen. She could not have a bastard child living with her in King's Landing. Things were very fragile in those days," She stormed away from him. "Dalia! Please! Come back here!"

Her dressed turned over small leaves as she left. The fight left him; the struggle inside him finally died. The battle ended, and he was alive. She knew now; that was all that mattered now. Sitting back down on the bench, Gareth looked upward. The Heart Tree's eyes dripped red sap like the tears on his daughter's face. He bowed his head. He did not want comfort or strength. He wanted forgiveness.


	27. Chapter 27: Nivia

"I honestly don't see what's there to complain about, Dal. You've been treated well. Nobody has ever pushed you aside because of your birth. People respect you because you're a Mason."

Nivia ran the brush through her sister's silky curls. She spoke as she picked up strands and untangled the small knots in them. The orange and red rays of dusk spilled into the bedroom, the winds blew steadily, and the two girls were already dressed for supper. Nivia tied on her wool lavender dress with a plunging rose covered neckline; a small gold and crystal bauble hung between her breasts. Her sister wore something similar, only emerald green that matched her eyes. Nivia always envied her sister's eyes.

"But I'm not a real lady like you and Toni. I've been lied to all this time about who I really am. Do you understand what this means Nivie? This means that my marriage to Robb is folly. It's not real. It's practically illegal."

"It is illegal, now sit up straight. I have to lift this up and I can't do it with you turning like that." Dalia sat correctly on the chair. "So what if your marriage is illegitimate? How many baseborn girls can say they're the wife of a high lord? Would prefer to be Robb's paramour instead? Because I'm sure he wouldn't complain," She sneered.

"But I could have…I could have-"

"-Married Jon, yes I know," Nivia said, smoothing down a few stray strands. "Well, there's no use crying about that now. Jon's at The Wall and probably will be sworn into The Watch. You're always sitting around moping about this lost love of yours; it's childish, Dal. The love is dead. Live with it and move on."

"It's easier said than done, Nivie," Dalia said. "I try forgetting about him, I really do. I think I'm doing well, and suddenly he's there again."

"You two did not even know each other that long. How could you know it was love and not some stupid infatuation?"

"It felt real. I swear, every time I looked into those puppy-dog eyes of his, all the sadness in me drained out. His kisses were like ice that froze me right in place. All I ever wanted was his arms surrounding me in the middle of the night…his comforting words…his laugh…to be his wife and be his forever …He loves me. I could see it in him. Nothing has ever felt as real as that."

Nivia stared at her sister. She saw the dreaminess in her eyes; the smile curving on her perfect face. She imagined herself having someone like Jon. Not Jon himself, of course. Nivia wasn't stupid enough to mix herself with a baseborn boy. Though, being with a man who absolutely adored her; who was willing to do anything for her and gave her all the respect and affection she rightfully deserved, sounded wonderful. Seeing her future with Theon Greyjoy, that will never happen.

"Your idea of love is stupid," Nivia said, twisting the smooth curls into a braid. "Everyone knows those only exist in stories. It was made up."

"You only say that because you've never had a man truly love you before."

Nivia spun the braid into a bun which she pinned down. "At least you're not marrying a Greyjoy."

Ironmen gave no love. She'd mean nearly nothing to Theon once they married. All she would be is something to spill babies into while he goes off with whores and servant girls. Love was a fool's dream. So many times had men whispered sweet nothings in her ears; placed false kisses on her lips and slipped wandering hands under her skirts. They all claimed they loved her. Yet, when she said it back, they left. Men always left. Theon would leave too. He'd wait until the baby came out, put another one in her, and then leave. Nobody ever left Dalia. Boys who fell for Dalia always stayed…perhaps because she never lied with them. She crowned Dalia's bun with a small band decorated with silk roses.

"What's wrong with that?" Dalia turned round in her seat.

"You seriously haven't heard it? My gods, you can be so stupid sometimes. Here, do mine now." They switched places and Dalia began brushing her hair now. "You know that rumor that Theon brings some whore into the castle? I found out its true."

Dalia gasped, "You're joking!"

"No. I heard them a few nights ago. She grunts like she's pushing wood from one side of the room to the other or well, the wood's pushing _her_ anyways," Nivia said.

Dalia brushed most of her hair over one side, beginning to make a tiny one going along with the curly mass. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"No," Nivia said, "Why should it? As long as he's not bugging me, why should I care who he's sticking himself into?"

"I would, were I you," Dalia said.

"Then it's a good thing you're not me, is it?"

Her sister sniggered, "Sometimes, yes."

Nivia thought more on what she heard the other night. She spotted that red-head strutting into their bedchambers. She knew he must have had that sly smirk on his face as the other woman moved. What was so special about that whore? Nivia could dance, sing, play harp, speak properly, and wasn't taking it between her legs from dawn till dusk like that other woman. Everything about Nivia was perfect: Her hair, her smile, her skin, her clothes, her make-up, her body. Men claimed they've dreamed of her. All of them desired her. She was a goddess. She was a true lady of beauty and love.

So why then? Why did Theon find this whore more interesting than her? Did he love her? Probably not. Did he at least find her likeable? Did he talk to her? He hardly spoke to Nivia; only when he was sitting next to her and those were seldom. She watched her sister finish her hair, sticking a golden barrette on the side.

* * *

><p>Nivia sat beside Theon at the supper table. She nibbled on a bit of boar, occasionally sipping from her wine cup. She smiled and spoke politely as expected, but never fully paying attention. Nivia in no way troubled herself with such things, yet, they came all the same. Perhaps because she thought it would never happen to her. Adultery played a role in the Mason family. She should have known. Everyone else did. She felt so humiliated; so stupid. He had humiliated her.<p>

And nobody humiliates Nivia Mason.

"-So, you certainly see the problem is growing. I received a letter from Axel a few hours ago. The wildlings attacked his holdfast. His men managed to fight them off, but they lost many resources and they'll need to rebuild the square," Her father informed them.

"Littleton?" Robb asked, "But that is a well protected land. How could the wildlings just trample all over it?"

"We're not sure. They came in the middle of the night," Her father replied. "Thank the Gods no serious damage was made. We must do something about this, Lord Stark, and quickly. The longer we sit here talking, the stronger and larger these wildlings are getting. Reports from Eastwatch say they are low on men; it's getting harder to protect The Wall. They need us and we need them."

Robb glanced at Dalia, who turned away from him with a gulp from her cup. She had been avoiding him since last night. She still felt resentful towards him; Nivia did not blame her. Had Theon called her a whore, she'd be angry too. Then there was the news from their father. She must have felt so out of place amongst all these high lords and guards. Once again, Dalia pitied herself. It was pathetic to be honest. Of course, Nivia wasn't stupid enough to say so.

"Dalia will tell you," Her father said, "That her uncle's holdfast is one of the strongest in The North. If wildlings are able to breach the walls, imagine what they can do to Winterfell."

"She has told me such," Robb said. He looked at her, "She has told me many things about your men and lands, Lord Mason." He attempted to touch her hand, but Dalia pulled away and stood. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check on Bran. I have Old Nan watching him, and she needs to sup too."

"You've hardly eaten," Robb told her.

"You must eat, sweetling," Her father said. "It's not good to keep you and your child hungry. You're not eating for just yourself anymore."

"We're not hungry," She repeated. She began leaving.

"Dalia," Robb called after her.

Everyone's eyes watched Lady Stark exit the room. Nivia continued eating ignoring the silence filling the space. Then Robb sighed.

"It'll get easier," Her father said. "Dalia will get over it eventually."

"I'll never understand women," Theon japed, glimpsing at Nivia, "They're all so complicated."

"We're not complicated," Nivia said, "You men are just too slow."

"Nivia…" Her father said sternly.

"I have decided," Robb interrupted, "I will send word to the Lord Commander. I will see what he has to say on this matter and discuss our plans. We will supply him with men if he supplies us in return. This battle with the wildlings cannot last long. Once we man Eastwatch, the numbers should decrease."

"Have our men taking the black?" Theon asked. "You can't force men to-"

"-They won't be taking the black. The outlaws from the villages will be sent as recruits, but our own men will only stay for a short time until this is over." He turned to Lord Mason, "Send word to all the other lords, tell them to do the same if they can. Our people need us."

"I will also send a raven to King's Landing," Her father told him. "Robert will help us with what he can. He is the King. He's obliged to help his people."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Robb?" Theon inquired. "You know that this could mean for you and-"

"-I have made up my mind. I will not speak of this any longer."

"Are they truly such a threat? They're just a bunch of savages with rocks and sticks," Theon said.

"Savages who have gotten rid of their rocks and sticks and replaced them with shields and axes.

"Robb, have you considered everything? Everything last thing?"

"I have…that only The Night's Watch can help us now. I have made my decision."

"And a good one," Lord Mason said, "Your father would be proud of you. Now, if you could just wrangle in my daughter, you'll see better days."

Being compared to his father made Robb grin somewhat. Nivia knew he gave the decision out of love, not out of duty. Bringing the black brothers here would make Dalia happy, because she'll get to see her oh-so-precious Jon once more. Would Theon do such a thing for her? No. He wouldn't.

* * *

><p>Supper ended soon after and Nivia walked towards her bedchamber alone. She made the mistake of opening the door.<p>

There she was sitting at Nivia's vanity desk, applying rouge on her flawless pale cheeks. Ginger curls were braided and pinned into a bun behind her head. Theon stood near her just as naked as she was; sweat gleaming on his body. The smirks across their faces vanished once Nivia entered. The bitch thought she'd actually get away with this. She truly was a gorgeous girl. Unblemished and curvy like Nivia, only a shy inch away from Nivia's perfection. She saw why Theon favored her.

"And what do you want, woman?" Theon asked.

"To sleep, I was hoping," Nivia said, "But I suppose that'll have to wait." She peeked out the door, "Elena! Elena bring clean sheets for Lord Greyjoy's bed and wash the old ones!" She looked into the room. "Who knows what's harboring in these sheets now…Who is this?" She nodded to the whore.

"I'm Ros, my lady," She answered, standing and beginning to dress.

"Hm, Ros…pretty name for a pretty girl." She crossed the room and poured herself some wine, "I thought you'd be uglier…or less than my sort of pretty."

"Why do you care who I take in bed? You don't want this marriage to happen; I don't want this marriage to happen. You're certainly in no condition for me to be fucking, so why do you bother with it?"

"I don't," Nivia lied, "But I won't have you and your cock humiliating and insulting me." She turned to face them as she sipped from her cup. "Some men would call you lucky to have bedded me. There are many who would love having the honor of marrying me."

Theon scoffed, "Don't think so fondly of yourself. You're just another noble lady who opened her legs before she was married off."

"Small Jon Umber…Harrion Karstark, Arthor Karstark…hm, oh Wylis Manderly…Jason Mallister…A few of Walder Frey's boys, I'm not sure if they're grandsons or great-grandsons, I couldn't tell…Garth Hightower, before he became a knight…Oh, and Dickon Tarly and Lancel Lannister all came to my father at one point or another. All of them, jealous of you for having me. Me. Nivia Mason. Yet, instead of adoring my beautiful body before this thing ruins it, you go around fucking whores with loose cunts. Hm, such a shame; they'd all call it a waste."

"If all these men supposedly want you, then marry one of them. I don't care." He handed Ros coppers from the table and she scurried out of the room. "I was fine on my own before you came."

She chuckled, "Oh, so it's my fault we're stuck together? You're the one that relentlessly pursued me."

"Because I wanted to see if all those rumors were true about you," He smirked, "And oh, my love, they were."

The servant arrived and began changing the sheets at once. "Hardly any of those rumors are true. I chose you. I decided you were the one I wanted. Naturally, I never planned on getting pregnant, but its here now and they all demand it stays."

She put the cup down and began undressing herself. Theon stood between her and the mirror. All the teasing and accusation in his eyes disappeared. His smile faded. She felt his hand beginning to untie her bodice, deftly and well practiced. "Why did you pick me?" He asked, no longer looking at her.

She didn't know how to answer. "I don't know…I just did. I don't care that you lay with whores-"

"-Yes you do," He removed the bodice and pulled off her under layer. "Otherwise you wouldn't be making such a fuss about it."

"I am not making a fuss,"

"Yes, you are. If you hadn't cared, you would've ignored Ros completely, but you didn't. You ramble off names because you think it'll make me jealous and that I'll change my mind." His hands rested on her waist, slowly pulling down the extra skirt layer 'till it fell around her feet. "Well, I'm not going to bed just you. There are too many women for me to simply ignore them, but…" He pulled her close; her breasts against his chest and his hands on her back. "You'll always be my favorite."

Then he kissed her. She could not remember whether anyone else had kissed her this way. They had all been lustful and needy. Theon's felt more reassuring and gentle; she doubted he was gentle with anyone. He guided her backward to their newly changed bed-the servant already had left- where his hands began touching other places.

The door opened again. "Oh!"

The couple jumped away from each other, startled by the appearance of Dalia at the door. Nivia sighed, "What is it now Dalia?"

The older girl had a slight blush of pink on her cheeks and was stifling her giggles. "It's Bran. He's awake."


	28. Chapter 28: Jon

Snow fell all around Castle Black, covering the roof tops and lining the newly shoveled pathways. The large icy wall went on for miles from end to end; when one stood against it, The Wall faded away through the misty fogs in the distance. Grains of snow wedged themselves into the crevices of the wooden buildings, giving the black walls a grayish tinge. The ground felt hard underneath his feet as he moved about the training yard, the sounds of cries and clashing swords ringing all over. The summer hardly brought winds, yet that never stopped the place from making him shiver in the night. Sometimes Jon wondered why he ever came here. Then he remembered: _'I'm only a bastard boy. I have no inheritance or any claim at all. What would I be if not a watcher?' _

Dalia's husband. No. No, he could not. He would not. He focused on teaching the other boys. Ser Allister, the Master-at-arms in Castle Black, had gone to armor up the new recruits, leaving Jon in charge. Jon knew Ser Allister did not favor him. Allister chose him because he was the best swordsman amongst the recruits. All his lessons from Ser Rodrik in Winterfell helped. Most of the other boys resented him for his prowess and from being born in a castle of a great lord. Thankfully, he earned the respect of two: Grenn and Pyp. Grenn, a tall and broad dark-haired youth who reminded him somewhat of Dalia's father, did not move as much as needed in a fight, while Pyp, a scrawny boy with a wispy beard, moved far too much. Gradually, Jon saw their progress.

He could have been a master-at-arms after all.

"Left foot forward. Good, now pivot as you deliver the stroke," He instructed to Grenn, "And lower your weight behind it."

"What in Seven Hells is that?" Grenn stopped, standing up straight and looking over Jon's shoulder.

All three boys turned around to see Ser Allister approaching. Behind him, a pudgy boy dressed in full padded armor and boots, struggling to keep up with his new master-at-arms. Jon watched them both step forward. All boys stood in line to meet him.

"Tell them your name," Ser Allister said to him.

"Samwell Tarly," The boy panted, "Of Hornhill. I mean, I was of Hornhill. I've come to take the black."

"You mean come to take the black pudding!" One boy joked. All laughed but Jon.

"Well you couldn't be any worse than you look," Ser Allister told him. "Right, see what he can do."

The boy who joked about Samwell stepped forward with his sword in hand. Jon observed the scene. Samwell stood in the middle of the semi-circle they formed; the determined glaze in his eyes told Jon he might be a lot harder than soft, but when the boy started swinging, everything changed. Samwell cried out with each blow, jerking and moving away from the sword, though the other boy persisted. He reminded Jon of a pig being hit around with a whip in a sty. Finally, the boy struck him down flat on the ground.

"I-I-I yield!" Sam whimpered, "I yield! Please no more!"

Jon pitied him. Boys like this were not made for the Night's Watch. Ser Allister hardly cared.

"On your feet," He said, "Pick up your sword." When Samwell did not, he said again: "Hit him again until he finds his feet."

The boy began slamming his sword down on Samwell. Samwell's cries went in sync with each blow; the boy hitting him as if he were a bug that refused to die. Jon turned away for a moment. Samwell's yelps echoed throughout the yard. He could hear the steel sword and the padding collision make small thumps; thumps which no doubt hurt. Nobody laughed now. The brutality progressed: Samwell attempted rolling away from the abuse, only to have more strikes to his sides and back. Other groups continued training; Samwell's howling might have been part of the wind. Castle Black was a brutal place, but there was no need to act it.

"It seems they've run short of poachers and thieves down south," Ser Allister japed. "Now they send us squealing bloody pigs."

Jon moved, Pyp's hand attempting to stay him, but Jon pushed him away. Samwell continued screaming and screeching as the other boy beat him repeatedly. The boy gave no mercy; the amused grin on his face showed his enjoyment. Samwell continued crying 'I yield!' to no avail.

"Enough!" Jon called out. Both Ser Allister and the boy glared at him. "He yielded."

Jon helped Samwell up from the ground, all covered in dirt and snow. He pushed him out of the circle. He would be safer out than in.

"Looks like the bastard's in love," Ser Allister jeered, "Alright then, Lord Snow. You wish to defend your lady love, let's make it a lesson. You two over here. Three of you should be sufficient. We'll see who can make Lady Piggy squeal. All you have to do is get past the bastard."

They all stood ready. Jon stared at Grenn and Pyp, "You sure you want to do this?"

"No," Grenn shook his head; Pyp did the same.

The boy came at his first, Jon deflected him almost immediately. Pyp came at him, but he spun him away with a swift move. Grenn came charging, only receiving a bash to the middle. Each boy kept his moment, but Jon stayed in his defensive stance. In the end, they yielded. Jon gazed contemptuously at Ser Allister, who stood with his arms crossed examining the work. Rather than congratulate Jon, he said:

"We're done for today. Go clean the armory. That's all you're good for."

Once out of earshot, Pyp smirked at Grenn: "Well fought…"

"Piss off," Grenn spat on the ground.

Samwell came close to Jon. "Did he hurt you?" It reminded him of Dalia and the wolves.

"I've had worse," He remembered the bite marks on his arm. He'd never forget those.

"You can call me Sam, if you want. My mother always called me Sam," He told him, not directly looking at Jon until he stopped speaking.

"It's not gonna get any easier, you know," Jon scolded. "You're gonna have to defend yourself. Ser Allister isn't going to make it any better for you. If anything, he'll make it worse."

"Why didn't you get up and fight?" Grenn asked.

"I wanted to," Sam griped, "But I couldn't. I thought about doing it, really I did. But when I saw him about to hit me, I panicked. I couldn't hit him."

"Why not?"

"I'm a coward…" Sam said solemnly. "My father always says so; my brother too."

"The Wall's no place for cowards," Jon told him.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I just wanted to thank you. Nobody had ever defended me before. Most people just sit back and laugh at me."

He picked up his sword and waddled away from them back into the armory. "A bloody coward!" Grenn said once Sam was out of hearing, "And people saw us talkin' to him! Now they'll think we're cowards too!"

"You're too stupid to be a coward," Pyp grinned.

"You're too stupid to be a-"

"-Quit now," Pyp smiled, "Before the summer's over!"

Grenn grunted and began chasing him back out of the yard. Jon stayed. He thought about what he had done; what this would mean for him now. Ser Allister Thorne already despised him for unknown reasons. Excelling in a lesson he thought Jon would fail only added more water into the boiling pot. Sooner or later, the pot will explode, Jon knew it. He returned into the armory; no sign of Sam and began pulling off the pads. He imagined Dalia smiling at him; telling him he did right by defending Sam.

Would she? Or would she have rebuked him for acting out of order? Jon realized he hardly knew Dalia, yet he found himself thinking of her. He thought about how she teased him for blushing around her; the care she gave him when the wolf nearly tore his arm off; the tears filling in her eyes when they last saw each other, and the small sadness following him throughout the ominous castle. He knew little of her. He knew small things, but not everything.

He even knew the truth about her parentage. She was not a true highborn lady after all. Her mother was The Queen. Her father and she were lovers, who shared a beautiful child together. Jon wished he knew earlier. If they were told sooner, Jon would be in Winterfell. He'd lie with her underneath blankets and furs, loving her in any way she desired. They'd have children together. They'd live together forever.

_'That was only a dream. Dalia will never be mine. Never.' _

* * *

><p>Later on, the winds blew harder above The Wall than below it. Snowflakes caught in his hair, on the fur of his cloak and everywhere else. He was lucky enough that the small blazing fire gave some kind of warmth. The most Jon could see beyond The Wall was the threshold of trees that drew a line between The Night's Watch and the wildlings. The rest stood in total darkness. Even in the blackness of night, the country seemed beautiful. He could not understand how something as beautiful as this became inhabited by creatures. Everyone knew The White Walkers died out centuries ago. Only the old, suspicious brothers believed they were still alive; merely biding their time amongst the trees. Still, the place seemed like a death trap. He clutched him cloak tighter around himself and leaned on the solid ice wall.<p>

Dalia would love it here. Obviously not Castle Black, but the country she would enjoy. He imagined her smiling as she stared out at it like how she did the day she married Robb. They could stay up there all day, holding each other for warmth. She'd tell him all that happened in Winterfell; he'd tell her about Castle Black. Up here on The Wall, nobody could touch them. Not Robb, not Lord Mason, not his father, his uncle, his friends, no one would be able to tell them 'no'.

"Hello," He heard a voice say.

Sam Tarly stood a few feet away from him, draped in thick furs which only made him look rounder. The cold made him shake like a leaf, steam emitting from his lips with every breath he took.

"Ser Allister says I'm to be you're new watch partner."

_'Wonderful. I would have been fine alone.'_ Jon thought resentfully.

"I ought to let you know," Sam said, "I can't see all that well."

"Come stand by the fire," Jon told him, "Its warmer."

"No," Sam shook his head, "I-I-'m fine."

"No you're not. You're freezing," Jon could see it in his face. Seeing the small irritation in Jon's eyes, Sam obliged.

He inched towards the very edge of the wall, looked down and shrunk away. "I don't really like high places."

"You can't fight," Jon began, "You can't see; you're afraid of heights and almost everything else." He stared back at Sam, "This is no place for cowards. When we finally say our vows, you're going to face things much more frightening than heights… What are you doing here Sam?"

Sam stared down for a moment; shuffling his feet nervously. Finally, he said: "On the morning of my eighteenth name-day, my father came up to me and said, 'Son, you're almost a man now, but you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you'll take the black, forsake all your inheritance and leave to The Wall. If you do not, we'll have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble and you will be left to die. Also, I'll tell your mother; nothing would please me more.'" He paused for a few moments, "So you see I had to come here. I had no choice."

Jon pitied him. He pitied him like he had in the training yard. Boys like Sam never lasted in the real world or even here on The Wall. His father must have thought the same and sent him away. He might have thought being in The Night's Watch would toughen him. There is no place for Sam, so he's come to The Wall in search of something like a family. From what said, his mother cared about him. He imagined how heartbroken she must have been to see her eldest son leave home. He knew what it was like seeing someone cry for you.

"How did you end up here?" Sam asked curiously. "Did someone send you here too?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose." Jon shrugged, "I always wanted to be a man of The Night's Watch like my uncle. He's First Ranger here. When I first heard all the stories he told me and my brother during his visits, I knew I wanted to be a ranger. I trained all the time. I never saw myself being anything else in the world. The only other thing I saw myself doing was becoming a master-at-arms; training whatever nephews she gave me, maybe even my own sons if I ever wanted any."

"She?" Sam caught on too quick. "Your brother's wife, you mean?"

"Her name is Dalia Mason. She'd be Dalia Stark now…Mistress of Winterfell and The North. She'll have my brother's children, raise them, and live out her life without me. I remember the day they married. I watched her walk up that aisle…the world seemed brighter that morning. Her beauty spread around to everything else; nothing could be ugly once it gazed on her. I was not sure what I would do: Steal her away from my own brother and marry her myself or let her be happy with him? I hated being there right behind him. I could never have her once they said their vows. She's a highborn lady…I'm the Bastard of Winterfell. She's better without me."

"Is that way you came here? Because of a woman?"

"My brother sent me away. He told me if I truly did not love her, then I'd go pursue my place on The Wall. Men of The Night's Watch father no sons and take no wives. I'd be out of his way. I'd be keeping her safe. She's happy now."

"How do you know she's happy?" Sam asked. "In this story I read once, The Peasant and The Lady I think it was called, that The Peasant was sent away by a high lord and-"

"-The Lady wept for days because she missed him," Jon remembered Tryion telling him the tale. "I know she's happy. She'll have her child, and people won't care that she loved me once."

Why in the Seven Hells was he telling Sam this? Talking about dead things brought everything down. Jon turned away from Sam, who took it as a sign to stop asking.

_'I will never think of her again. Ever. For as long as I live, I will forget I ever met Dalia Mason. I will forget I loved her. I will forget I ever held her close, kissed her lips and made love to her.'_ Though, he wasn't sure if he could hold true to that.

"Ser Allister is going to make me fight again tomorrow, isn't he?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

Sam whined, "I'm not going to get any better, you know."

Jon looked at him again, "Well…You can't get any worse."

They both exchanged grins; their laughs filling the night time air.


	29. Chapter 29: Robb

He watched her standing by the stables. The horde of Mason guards mounting their horses, settling their charges and preparing for the move cluttered around the front gate. Nivia and Dalia stood around their father, smiling and wishing him well. Any resentment Dalia had for her father disappeared by the time she found him near the gate. You can only be angry at someone for so long.

Guilt still sat inside Robb though the moment passed. He wished he could take back all he said. He had not been himself when he spoke. Granted, he saw nothing wrong with sharing his feelings with her; telling her what he thought. Yet, spewing them out in a drunken state was not the best way. He remembered her storming out of the room, tears falling down her cheeks. Sober Robb would have run after her; apologize and beg for her to stay. Instead, he lay in bed, slowly dozing off as the fire beside him went out. Calling upon The Night's Watch might put him back in her good graces. She cannot be angry with him forever. He adjusted his cloak about his shoulders, and moved towards Lord Mason.

"Lord Mason," Robb came towards the group. The two men shook hands, "Sad to see you leaving so soon. Now who am I going to find to tame this one?" He slid his arm around Dalia's waist. She didn't object this time.

Lord Mason chuckled, "You'll learn soon enough, Stark. Mason women can be sweet when they want to be. A bit grudging though," He hinted. He leaned in, "Some orchids will do."

"Don't give the secret away," Dalia tapped his strong shoulder. "Now I can never be angry at him."

"And wine always cheers her up," Nivia smirked, and then received a similar smack on the shoulder from Dalia. "What? It does!"

"I think I'd need more than just wine and flowers," Robb said, sharing a look with Dalia.

"Oh surely," Nivia giggled, "Much more."

"Too bad flowers won't work on wildlings," said Lord Mason, "Then all we'd have to do is call upon all the florists in The North to do our fighting for us."

"They probably eat them," Nivia snickered. "Maybe that's why they're really here: Not enough flowers beyond The Wall."

Dalia and Robb stifled their own giggles, but Lord Mason let out his hearty laugh. "If only things were that easy. Then we wouldn't have any wars." He mounted his horse, and stared down at Robb, "I'll send word when I hear back from Robert and Cotter. I'll let them know we've made our decision. You're doing the right thing, Robb. Many people will thank you when this is over."

The two men grinned at one another, shook hands, and Lord Mason led his men away. He stayed at Dalia's side as they watched Lord Mason ride off down the kingsroad.

"I should go see Bran," Dalia said. "I promised him I'd visit him."

"Not like he's eager for it," Nivia said. "The boy has been so sad since he woke up."

"Well he did lose his legs, Nivie," Dalia replied. "The most we can do is try to keep him comfortable. Perhaps Tobias or Linnie can sit with him. I mean, they already get along with Rickon so well. I just hate seeing him so sad and upset. He hardly talks or eats anymore."

"I'm sure Bran will cheer up eventually," Robb said. He rubbed her side soothingly. "He only needs to get accustomed to it, that's all."

"What if he doesn't? What if he's like that the rest of his life?"

"You worry too much, Dal," Nivia said. "Bran will get used to not having his legs. I know you'll find some clever way of helping him like you always do."

Dalia smiled at her. "I'm sure there's something I can do for him."

"Yes, but right now," Robb turned her to face him; "The best we can do is wait and watch over him. I'll have Hodor carry him outside every so often so he's not stuck in his room all day."

"I'd lose my mind if I had to stay in a room all day with only Old Nan for company," Nivia said, which got her a soft kick behind her leg from Dalia.

Dalia told him she and Nivia would go check on Bran. As Nivia moved away, he caught Dalia's arm carefully. He pulled her close enough to whisper.

"You aren't still angry at me, are you?" He asked.

"I was," She said, "Had someone else said it, I wouldn't have cared. I don't mind other people calling me a whore, but you? I never expected you to believe such lies. I thought out of everyone in this world, maybe you'd be the one who'd trust me the most; who would believe me. Instead, you decide to curse me because of silly little rumors spread about by stablehands and washerwomen."

"And now?"

She sighed, "I don't anymore. The time has passed, hasn't it?" She cupped his cheek and tenderly kissed him.

"Forgive me," He said, before pecking her again, "I should not have been so harsh with you. You're my wife. I trust you. I don't want you to be unhappy."

She beamed at him. She gave him a final kiss before whispering, "Love me. That's all I ask, Robb: That you love me."

"I will," He hugged her, "I do."

"I feel like I can't escape them. Everywhere I go, they are there…whispering and murmuring behind my back. I could save this entire castle single-handedly and they'll all still call me a whore. I'm trapped, Robb. I want them to go away. Make them go away."

"I will. Don't worry, my love." Their lips locked one final time.

He released her from his arms; she walked towards Nivia and the two left arm-in-arm. His eyes followed her towards the main castle where Bran slept. He could never actually stop rumors from spreading, but he had the choice of believing them or not. Dalia does nothing but please him. She pleases everyone.

_'Especially Jon.'_ A part of his said, _'Especially if Jon comes back…No…She never would…She's pregnant now, so she could not even if she wanted to…He's my brother; my blood, and she's my wife; the woman I swore myself to…They'd never betray me.'_

"A copper for your thoughts," A voice interrupted him.

Theon stood beside him with a quiver of arrows over his shoulder and a bow in his hand. Clearly he decided today was a shooting day. "Gareth just left; was just seeing him off like a good lord should."

"And trying to make it up to Dalia," Theon smirked. The two began walking towards the castle as well. "Is she still mad at you?"

"No. She forgave me for what I did, and I'm glad. The last thing I need is an angry wife when I have all of this to worry about while my father sits up in King's Landing. She's the reason I'm writing to the Lord Commander at all."

"She ought to be grateful for that at least. If I were you, I would tackle those savages with my own men instead of calling a bunch of grumpy old men to help me. Never mind what some little woman has to say about it." When Robb did not respond, he said next: "You know why she was so eager for it, right?"

"Not now, Theon. Unlike everyone else, I am trying to move past this."

"But you do. She only wants Snow to come back so she can kiss and cuddle with him while you're off fighting for your people," Theon said. "It'll be a long while before any black brothers come here; he'll have taken his vows by then-"

They reached his father's solar. Robb took a seat at the chair, shuffling papers around, "-So then I wouldn't have anything to worry about. I trust Dalia. I know she would never betray me that way, and neither would Jon."

"So you're telling me you're not the least bit suspicious about it?"

"No, I'm not. I believe full-heartedly what she told me. I have more important things to worry about at the moment."

"You've never been a good liar, Robb," Theon took the seat in front of the desk. "You need someone to watch her; make sure she's not doing anything she shouldn't be. Women can be excellent deceivers, you know. Look at whores; they get men to believe whatever it is they want to believe. Dalia can do that just as easily."

"My wife is _not_ a whore."

"But she is a woman."

"I'm not going to let you spy on my wife," Robb said finally, "Like I said, Jon might not even come here. He'll still be up on The Wall training."

"I didn't say I'd be the one doing it," Theon reasoned, "Get someone you trust who can sneak themselves around her. Like that little boy-what's his name?-the smithy's apprentice? Get him to follow her and see what she does when you're not looking."

"No Theon," Robb said sternly. "Dalia is my wife. I have faith in her. She's not a spy or an enemy. Plus, the boy would never turn on Dalia like that. He's too fond of her. You'd need someone who isn't so emotionally attached." He continued working on his papers.

"That washerwoman that takes care of the little girl…Igraine, I think is her name. She's around Dalia plenty or one of her servants."

"I already told you-"

"-I'm looking out for you," Theon said, "Because when the truth finally comes out, you're the one who is going to look like a fool."

"Why are you so convinced Dalia was with Jon?"

"Because I can tell when two people just fucked, and trust me, Snow looked pretty flustered when he rode out of here."

Theon was right. Theon knew more about that than any other boy he knew, save his father. Robb imagined it in his mind again: Dalia underneath Jon hours after she had been under him. The child growing in her could even be Jon's. Jon might have done things with her Robb only dreamt of doing. The servants could be speaking the truth after all. Visions of Dalia moaning out Jon's name, his hands sailing up and down her while his lips pressed on hers ran through Robb's mind like a twisted nightmare. His fist balled around the quill he held, which he nearly slammed down.

"Fine," He said, "If Jon happens to come along with the rest of The Watch, you can have your little informant. Don't be disappointed when they tell you Dalia is going about her daily business without Jon."

All Theon did was smile. Robb knew that smile. He had grown up knowing and seeing that smile. Theon was up to no good.


	30. Chapter 30: The Intended Wife

Antonia hardly ever stepped into her father's solar. The only time was when any of the children committed some kind of wrong. She never recalled causing any trouble other than the incident with Nivia and her unborn child. Antonia still felt horribly guilty whenever she thought about it. She meant well. She wanted to help her older sister. No way could her father possibly still be upset. Stepping out of The Keep, she stared around. Tower Hill had been named for the most obvious reason: The Tower of Mason stood in the very center of a hill, tall castle walls built around it. . The tower began as a mere holdfast whereas the main castle stood long far away. Yet, after the battle between House Bolton and House Mason many years ago, the holdfast became a castle on its own. Made of thick stone, the tower loomed over the rest of the castle. If one raised their head high enough, they might see figures moving about the battlements going around the top of the tower. She did not understand why the tower must be used as a watchtower, when they had four on each corner of the walls.

Passing the armory, she coughed at the smell of smoke coming from the forge. The blacksmith's apprentice, a boy of thirteen with shaggy black hair, a long face and green eyes, hardly noticed her as she passed. She tried grabbing his attention with a smile, but went unnoticed all the same. The only ones who made men swoon were Dalia and Nivia. They were the beautiful ones. Antonia was simply ordinary.

Thorin, William and Mika trained in the practice yard. She watched William shoot three arrows one after the other right into the bullseye. His masculine arm extended in a perfect line, his eyes focused intently on his target, his shots never missed. He looked over his shoulder at her, giving her a smile. Thorin nearby slashed away at the stuffed dummy with his longsword; their master-at-arms Ser Devon, teaching Mika sword fighting maneuvers. They all had special talents. They would all be warriors someday. Antonia would be the sweet wife of some lord somewhere. She hoped to be a good wife. At least people could say that about her.

Her father's solar was inside the guard head quarters. A tall building as high as the castle wall, men dressed in leathers and wools went in and out of the door, only nodding and mumbling 'my lady' when she passed. Had Nivia or Dalia walked by, they might have turned their heads. Not for Antonia. She found her father sitting at his desk, scratching a quill across a parchment. Salem, her father's eagle, sat caged inside on its perch. Dark eyes watched her walk in, and the bird cawed.

"Ah Toni, sweetling come in," He said to her. She took a seat.

"Am I in trouble?" She asked him.

He chuckled, "No, you're not. I called upon you because we finally received some good news."

"What is it?"

"We finally found you a suitor."

Antonia gave a small grin. She always knew this day would come. She knew one day some high lord from a distant place would ask for her hand. She dreamt of it: A handsome nobleman on a white stead, dressed head to toe in armor, holding out a hand for her to take; the way the stories told it. Naturally, most of the lords chose Dalia or Nivia, because of their good looks and age. Their eyes overlooked Antonia every time. She thought she might never meet her husband. Yet, today someone asked for her; someone remembered her. They sent a rave asking specifically for her, and her father accepted.

"Really?" Antonia said. "Who?"

"Robert Arryn of the Vale," He answered. "I had been sending ravens back and forth between myself and Lysa Arryn. She says she'll be glad to admit you into her home. Robert needs another friend to play with and a wife would be just the right person."

Her smile faded just as quickly as it appeared. "Isn't…Isn't he the little sickly boy?" She had heard Jon Arryn's youngest son was ill. "He has the shaking sickness, doesn't he?"

"Indeed," He nodded, "But Lysa says he's a sweet boy nevertheless. You two will get along, I'm sure-"

"-But Father-"

"-Lysa told me he can be a bit of a handful, but if he has someone distracting him, he'll be fine-"

"-But Father-" She tried cutting in again.

"-Of course, you two will marry when he comes of age and you've bled-"

"-Father, I don-" She was losing the battle before it even began.

"-I will send word to the Eyrie that we have agreed. Lysa will be pleased to know her son will be cared for if she were ever to pass too soon. You may go now, Antonia. Go check on your grandfather for Maester Grey, will you? There's a good girl."

Antonia said nothing else and left the tower. Her eyes stung; her arms hugged her as she headed to the keep. She did not look up from the ground. She could not let people see her face becoming blotchy and ugly. Her father's voice replayed over in her head; every single word turning into a wound. His disregard for her feelings; his disinterest in her thoughts pained her. Nobody ever listened to her. Nobody ever cared. They did not even bother to ask her if she wanted to marry the Arryn boy. She did not want to. She would not.

Shutting the door to her bedchamber, sobs erupted in her chest. Tears poured down her pale cheeks, her mouth feeling dry. This was unfair. Why should she have to marry the Arryn boy? Why should she be cursed with such a burden? As usual, Dalia and Nivia had the best. Dalia married the handsome lord of Winterfell Robb Stark, and even grabbed the love of the bastard boy Jon Snow. Nivia nabbed the heart of Theon Greyjoy, the good-looking youth who smiled for everything. They were adored and desired by their husbands; their children will be beautiful and healthy.

Only the Gods know how her children will come out. She crashed herself on her bed, sobbing into her pillows. She hated them. All of them for doing this to her. They made everything so unfair for her. She got shit while Dalia and Nivia got everything.

They were somebody. Everyone liked them the best. They received the best. Antonia was nobody; a nobody marrying a sick little boy who she'll share a marriage bed with some day. Her children will be sick too no doubt. She will become like her Aunt Isabelle, who births only sick children and stillborns. She will never have her handsome lord or her beautiful children.

"Toni?" A voice said from behind her door. "Are you in there?"

"Go away!" She told William.

"Toni…Look, I know this isn't fair to you. I told Father you wouldn't want to marry that Arryn boy; nobody would want to marry him, but you know our father. Now, please let me in."

"No!"

"Toni," He said with his gentle tone, "Please?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Fine, then I'll have to just do it myself."

She heard the sound of the lock jiggling. William's small knife helped him get into many doors in the old castle. In a matter of minutes, he stood in the doorway, tucking the knife back in his belt. He did not speak a word. He shut the door behind him, and then came to her bed.

"Please, baby sister," He told her, sitting next to her and making the bed sink. She did not meet his eyes, "Don't cry." His hand rubbed her side.

The touch caused more tears. She wished she married someone like William or Thorin: Someone strong, honorable and brave who would give her healthy children and love her. Yet they did not live the old way anymore; they were not the Targaryens who wedded brother to sister. Antonia rolled onto her back. William brushed hair from her face, and used a thumb to wipe her tears.

"Wh-Wh-Why me?" She stuttered in her crying.

"I don't know," He answered truthfully. He leaned forward closer to her. "He could have picked anyone for you, but yet he chose the Arryn boy. Were I him, I might have picked someone from the Westerlands or the Reach, maybe even the Storm Lands. I would have chosen someone worthy of a girl as beautiful as you. Robert Arryn would be my last option for you."

"It's not fair," She said. "Dalia and Nivia have good looking husbands. Why can't I?"

"Forget about Dalia and Nivia. Dalia did not even want to marry Robb, and Nivia is only marrying Theon because she's having his child. You're the only one who's dreamed of this. You deserve someone who will give you the respect and affection you deserve." His fingers grazed her cheek softly. "I would marry you if I could…"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly," He said. "You're intelligent, beautiful and graceful. You're every man's dream. I never understood why men never flocked around you or begged for your hand in marriage…Now please, sweet sister," He said affectionately, "No more tears. I hate seeing you in such sadness."

He brought her into his warms. Antonia never told him how much she loved his embrace. Yes, Thorin also hugged her at times, her father and grandfather as well, even Mika whenever she gave him something. Yet, his arms weren't large like Thorin or her father. She did not feel as if she were hugging a tree during her grandfather's hugs. Mika reached up to her stomach. William felt perfect. He snuggled her against his chest. His lips planted a kiss on her forehead.

She stared up into his eyes. Everyone in the Mason family carried various shades of blue (excluding Dalia's green ones). William's were a pale blue like the sky on a clear day. They could make any maiden melt. She never said she loved him eyes the most.

"You're so beautiful," He whispered, "And the entire world should envy you."

Then he kissed her. A gentle, chaste kiss upon her lips. Antonia knew she should withdraw from him; push him away telling him how vile and sick he should feel. Instead, Antonia only smiled. Nobody ever gave her as much attention as William. She felt nobody ever will.

'_Nothing measures to a brother's love.'_

"I wish we were Targaryens…"


End file.
